Chapter Fourteen.

Karyn and Sacha were awakened by the sound of a loud, piercing scream echoing the corridor outside their compartment. Sacha peered out and saw the young Provodnitsa from the coach to the rear, having hysterics outside the end compartment of their coach. She had missed seeing Donya Jelavich on the platform as the locomotive was changed at Achinsk, and was searching for her to check that all was well. As she came along the corridor, she noticed the bullet holes around the lock of the end compartment. She had apprehensively opened the door to the compartment and was faced with the three bodies lying in great pools of congealing blood.

Anton appeared from the first compartment at the front of the coach; whose former occupant now lay sprawled in the rear compartment. As he ran down the corridor, the compartment doors were opening and the other passengers were gawping down the corridor to see what the commotion was about. Giving Sacha a warning glance that he should get back inside the compartment; he grabbed the screaming Provodnitsa and dragged her away from the sight of the bloodbath in the end compartment.

As he did so; there came the heavy clatter of service boots on the connecting footplates between the coaches, and the rear door of the coach crashed open. Two young soldiers wearing Guards unit uniforms burst into the coach, levelling their sub-machine guns at Anton and the girl. The younger of the two soldiers glanced inside the compartment and his face paled. Quickly, Anton flashed his service identity card.

'Nikolin; GUGB. Fifth Directorate, Third Department. Secure the coach. Let no one in, or out. I shall do a cursory check in here.'

The young, white-faced soldiers nodded. Anton's identity card verified him as "Praporshchik"... Warrant Officer of the Internal Troops of the Main Directorate of State Security... the GUGB. The young soldier knew, however; that the GUGB was the highest division responsible for the security of the government, among other tasks. They were so special that even their military ranks were higher than the normal military ranks. Anton's rank was above even a Major Gozbezopasnosti... a Major of State Security of the NKVD.

The young soldiers scrambled to carry out Anton's order. One positioned himself at the rear door; the other moved towards the front of the coach, ordering the passengers back into their compartments, and stationed himself at the front door of the coach; PPD-34 sub-machine gun at the ready. A few minutes later, Anton reappeared. His face was grim. As he came back into the corridor, he left a trail of bloody footprints on the cheap, oriental patterned corridor carpet. He glanced around the rear area of the coach. There were no signs of any bloodstains outside the confines of the compartment. Sacha had done his clean-up exceptionally well. Anton held up three bloodstained, service identity cards. He handed them to the less queasy-looking of the two young soldiers.

'Two from my firm; and one Novosibirsk NKVD goon. The two with their heads blown off are GUGB Special Section, Moscow. I had no idea they were travelling on the same train. The one with his hand blown off and the bullets in his gut is an NKVD operative: Captain of State Security, Igor Barovenkat of the Novosibirsk Directorate. This has all the hallmarks of a political vendetta. I reckon; from the state of that Mauser; that he accidentally got his ammo mixed up and tried to fire a TT special round. He certainly gave himself one hell of a manicure.'

Drawing his Tokarev, he added;

'I'll check the rest of the passengers in this coach; although I don't think we'll get any leads. This bastard seems to have just appeared from nowhere. He probably boarded the express at any one of the last stops. We're only about eighty kilometres out of Krasnoyarsk. I'll get the local boys to impound this coach for investigation, and have a fresh one coupled up for these passengers. I'll put the girl in here. The passengers in this compartment may be able to calm her down so that I can question her later.'

He moved to the second compartment occupied by Karyn and Sacha. Tapping on the door with the muzzle of his Tokarev, he called

"Gosudarstvennoi Bjezopasnosti; Propusk!"... 'State Security; Your Papers!'

The door to the compartment was quickly opened, and he went inside with the shivering girl; closing the door behind him. Quickly; he hushed Sacha's half-spoken question; saying,

'From now on, you are just a couple of Archaeologists travelling to Irkutsk. Say, and do no more than that. This is going to get very messy, very quickly. When we stop, the NKVD Investigators are going to be all over us like flies on a dog turd. They are going to really pissed off with the amount of paperwork they will need to bullshit their way out of this one if they want to save their Novosibirsk chums from being lined up amongst the pine trees.

I shall, as a GUGB Officer; now countersign your documents as proof that you have been cleared of any suspicion in this matter. After this; say and do nothing; obey any instructions that you are given. They will not dare to challenge my signature on your papers... not after I inform Moscow of the tragic demise of their two operatives at the hands of the NKVD. See if you can calm this poor girl down; she's seen the mess next door.'

He turned to the young soldier who was guarding the rear door of the coach.

'Are there any more of your squad back there?'

The young soldier nodded;

'Yes, Comrade Praporshchik; there are five of us from my Regiment. We are transiting to Irkutsk... to the Military facility to the north of the city.'

Anton nodded;

'Very well; go back and fetch them. I want this coach fully secured, and all the passengers taken off in an orderly manner when we reach Krasnoyarsk.'

The young soldier saluted. His face was still very white. He turned, and almost ran from the coach.

As the rear door slammed; Anton heard him throw up outside. As he moved along the corridor towards the front of the coach, he glanced out of the window and glimpsed the tiny wooden station building at Zeledeevo; almost hidden in the surrounding trees; flashing past. There were now only about seventy kilometres... a little more than an hour away from Krasnoyarsk. Systematically; under the nervous gaze of the young soldier stationed at the front door of the coach, he checked the papers of the passengers in the remaining compartments; instructing them that they were to pack such luggage as they possessed, in preparation to leave the coach at Krasnoyarsk. This done; he then moved to the front compartment where Karyn had placed his uniform. Instructing the young soldier to keep watch on the corridor; he stepped inside and closed the door. Quickly, he changed into his GUGB uniform and picked up the PPD-34 sub-machine gun which lay on Donya Jelavich's bunk.

He stepped back out into the corridor, just as the rear door of the coach burst open, and the young soldier returned with the remainder of his squad. They were led by a huge, Guards Regiment Sergeant with a great board of medal ribbons on his chest; above which, were pinned The "Orden Krasnogo Znameni"… The Order of the Red Banner, and The "Orden Krasnaya Zvezda"... The Order of The Red Star. He snapped to attention as he caught sight of the GUGB Warrant Officer.

Anton walked back down the corridor and informed the sergeant of the situation. He motioned to the door of the end compartment. The Sergeant glanced inside, and his face tightened. He glanced at Anton;

'Nasty!... Looks like a political assassination, to me; Comrade Praporshchik. Who are they?'

Anton shrugged;

'The two with their faces blown off, are from my firm. The other is Novosibirsk NKVD. You're probably right about the political assassination; but, as to why; well, your guess is as good as mine. I didn't even know there were any more of my lot on the train. Now; post two of your lads here; one at the rear door, and one by this compartment; and bring the other one with you. We need to secure the next coach, so that no one comes wandering down here; and then we need to find out where this NKVD asshole came from. He must have a compartment somewhere in the first coach.'

As they moved forward, the sergeant asked what the plan was. Anton replied that when they arrived at Krasnoyarsk, he would contact the local NKVD and drop the whole mess into their laps. He would order the coach to be uncoupled, and the passengers transferred to a replacement coach. They had all been vetted, and their documents were in order. With luck, they could be on their way within the hour.

In the next compartment to the bloodbath, Karyn and Sacha were trying to calm the hysterical young Provodnitsa from the next coach. She was a pretty, young blonde with huge, frightened, blue eyes. She was shivering uncontrollably as she perched on the edge of Karyn's bunk, whimpering softly; rocking to and fro, and clasping her drawn-up knees with her arms. Karyn was beginning to calm her a little, by asking her seemingly mundane, girl-chatter questions. Where was she from? How long had she been on the Trans-Siberian route? Did she have a boyfriend?

Slowly, the girl began to calm down. Her name was Jereni Cherevin. She was from Moscow, and had been a Provodnitsa on the Great Siberian Way for two years. She had originally trained as a ballerina with the Bolshoi Ballet Academy until a skating accident on the lake at Gorky Park had damaged her ankle. Then; the memory of what she had seen took over. She began to tremble again. What would happen now? Would she be interrogated when they reached Achinsk? Would the railway company expect her to continue on to Vladivostok? Karyn tried to calm her. The GUGB Praporshchik had taken charge of the situation. He would sort everything out.

In the forward coach, Anton was questioning the middle-aged Provodnitsa of that coach. Had any of the compartments been occupied by a solitary man? The Provodnitsa replied that the fourth compartment had been so occupied; all the rest were taken by couples. He instructed her to open the compartment with her pass key. As she slipped the key into the door lock; the Guards Sergeant drew, and cocked his Tokarev. Moving the Provodnitsa aside, Anton carefully opened the door.

The compartment was empty. Lying on the bunk was a briefcase. Motioning that the sergeant should come in and close the door; Anton flipped open the briefcase flap and emptied the contents onto the bunk. A Tokarev TT special pistol; a spare Tokarev magazine, and two loaded Mauser stripper clips... together with a handful of loose ammunition, tumbled onto the neatly folded blanket. There was also an envelope containing a wad of photographs held together with an elastic band; and a document from the Novosibirsk NKVD office stipulating that the subjects in the photographs were to be identified and "facilitated" in accordance with a directive from the Minsk NKVD office. The document and photographs were to be destroyed upon successful completion of this task. The photographs were of Anton, Tasha; Donya, Karyn, and Sacha.

The Guards sergeant peered over Anton's shoulder. His face held a puzzled and suspicious expression. He muttered;

'What the fuck's going on, Comrade?'

Anton turned, and shrugged;

'I really don't know. This looks like some sort of vendetta between the Minsk NKVD and the GUGB. I recall that some time ago, we uncovered a corrupt faction in their office, and brought them before the district Troika. I believe that five of the offenders ended up amongst the pine trees in Brod woods. Perhaps, this was some plot to even the score. Why they involved me is a mystery. I had nothing to do with it. As for these two...'

He held up the photographs of Karyn and Sacha...

'According to their papers; these two are archaeologists on a Moscow Central, NKVD-designated expedition. They have nothing whatsoever to do with any of this.'

The sergeant shook his head.

'Thank Christ I'm just a simple soldier. You Security boys certainly weave a tangled web.'

Anton gave a short laugh.

'Isn't that the truth! Leave your lad here to guard this compartment, and let's go and question these two archaeologists again. You can put that cannon away; you're not going to need it from here on in.'

The sergeant nodded and carefully thumbed the hammer of his Tokarev forward. He slipped the weapon back into his holster, and, ordering the young solder to stand guard; followed Anton back down the coach accompanied by the middle-aged Provodnitsa. As they walked back down the corridor, the express passed through the little halt at Bugachevo. Now, there were no more than five or six kilometres left until they came into Krasnoyarsk. The city's outermost industrial sprawl was beginning to appear. Anton gave a quiet grin. Time to start play-acting again.

Back in their compartment, Karyn and Sacha had succeeded in calming Jereni Cherevin down. She was telling them of what it was like, being a Provodnitsa; of how she did two full trips per month from Moscow to Vladivostok; and how she was so fortunate to be in charge of a "Spalny Vagon" instead of a very basic "platskartny"... "hard class" coach. She was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Sacha opened the door to be confronted by Anton and the sergeant. Jereni Cherevin's eyes became wide, and frightened as she saw the GUGB uniform. Anton asked to see Karyn and Sacha's papers again. The Guards sergeant's eyes fell on the brown leather briefcase; its flap embossed with the Hammer and Sickle. He moved towards it; intent on checking its contents. Anton caught his arm.

'No Comrade; it's an Official briefcase... a Lubyanka briefcase. Even I don't have the authority to check its contents.'

His tone changed.

'My apologies for bothering you Comrades; but I must ask; did you see or hear anything from the next compartment?'

Sacha replied that they hadn't. They had only discovered that anything was wrong when Karyn kicked a spent cartridge case lying on the corridor carpet as they returned from the restaurant car. Anton nodded;

'Very well. Please remain in your compartment until we reach Krasnoyarsk. Gather up your possessions in readiness to move to a replacement coach when instructed so to do. I shall arrange for this coach to be impounded for investigation by the Krasnoyarsk NKVD.'

He turned to the middle-aged Provodnitsa, and pointed to Jereni Cherevin.

'Take this girl back to your compartment and look after her. I shall arrange for her to be returned to Moscow. We shall need a statement when she has composed herself... which could take some time, after what she has seen.'

Seeing the terrified look in Jereni Cherevin's eyes, he said,

'It will be nothing more than a simple statement. I shall contact my office to arrange a suitable time. You are not in any sort of trouble. It is merely a formality.'

The monotonous clacking of the wheels changed their rhythm to a staccato clatter as the express began to pass over the points of the junction with the line down to Abakan, in the south. Anton stood up and stepped out into the corridor. He told the sergeant to prepare his men for an orderly clearing of the coach passengers. Now it would be little more than five minutes before the express stopped at Krasnoyarsk station for a change of locomotive and crew. The express slowed as the engineer closed the steam regulator; and, with hissing steam and squealing brakes; they coasted into the station.

Anton stepped down onto the platform and beckoned to the Station Master, who was standing watching the locomotive engineers prepare to uncouple the coaches. Quickly, he informed the startled official of the situation. The Station Master shouted that the engineers should cease what they were doing, and come to his office. Anton said he had to make a couple of telephone calls. The Station Master directed him to his office and waited outside. The sight of the GUGB uniform of the State security personnel; with maroon collar tabs piped in raspberry, and special oval state security sleeve patches on both sleeves unnerved him... especially this early in the morning. The station clock read 07.22am.

Alone in the Station Master's office; Anton contacted the Krasnoyarsk NKVD office and demanded to be connected with the local GUGB representative. His authoritative tone was not disputed; and after a short pause, he was connected with Kapitan Gozbezopasnosti... Captain of State Security Felix Lavrov. Anton explained the situation, and was informed that a team of investigators would be sent immediately. The coach in question was to be cleared of passengers and isolated from the remainder of the express. The telephone went dead.

Anton called in the Station Master and the engineers. He relayed the instructions of the Krasnoyarsk office to them. Would there be a problem? The Station Master assured him that there would not. He picked up the phone and dialled a number. He spoke rapidly into the handset; then replaced it. A shunter would bring a replacement "Spalny Vagon" from the rolling stock sidings. Meanwhile, the engineers would uncouple the first two coaches of the express, and take them, and the original locomotive onto the far loop across the other side of the "down" track. They would then move onto the next siding; uncouple the isolated coach, and move the first coach beyond the points, to wait for the shunter. This little tank engine would bring the new coach onto the far loop and shunt it forward to be coupled to the first original coach.

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These two coaches would then be uncoupled and reversed away; leaving the original locomotive free to be taken to the loco sheds. A fresh locomotive would be brought up and coupled to the two coaches. These would then be shunted back across the "down" track and re-coupled to the express. Provided there was no problem with the local NKVD; the passengers could then board, and the express could be on its way with little more than twenty minutes delay. Anton smiled;

'Impressive; Comrade. Mention will be made of your station's efficiency.'

As he spoke, there came the distant wail of sirens. The Krasnoyarsk NKVD weren't messing about with this one. The young Guards Regiment soldiers were busy clearing the coach of its passengers, and shepherding them into the sprawling, white station building. When all the passengers were safely inside; they turned, and took up position below the wide, friezed portico above the main entrance, with their PPD-34 sub-machine guns held across their chests in the "Alert" position. Anton stepped down from the coach onto the platform, followed by the Guards Regiment sergeant. He turned, and helped the young Provodnitsa, Jereni Cherevin, down onto the platform. Her eyes were still wide, and frightened. He smiled, gently.

'Don't worry; it'll all be OK. I've arranged for my counterpart here in Achinsk to contact Irkutsk and arrange for them to fly you back to Moscow. There, they will take your statement, and instruct the Railway Company to let you have some time off, and not be penalised for taking it. You are now under the protection of the Moscow GUGB Directorate... and that is protection enough.'

He escorted her to the Station Master's office; sat her down; and poured her a glass of vodka from the bottle that he had told the sergeant to bring off the train. He could see that she was still very scared. He smiled again;

'Drink this; it will help.'

As she timidly accepted the glass, he turned to the sergeant;

'Tell your boys to secure the building. No one else is to be allowed in. The passengers will be held here until the replacement coach is ready. I don't want the NKVD stomping around in here, stirring everything up in their usual, delicate way.'

As the sergeant went out to pass the order to his men, Anton began to coax any further information of what she might have witnessed; from Jereni Cherevin. He was interrupted by the approaching roar of engines, and the squealing of tyres on the ragged asphalt of the road behind the station building, as two of the dreaded "Chyornye Voronki," the NKVD "Black Ravens," skidded to a halt. Doors banged open, and there came the heavy clatter of service boots as eight Krasnoyarsk NKVD hard-cases came storming round the far corner of the building; scattering the tables and wares of the platform vendors and shoving the old Babushki aside. The two young soldiers blocked their way at the head of the wide steps.

The fat Lejtenant Gozbezopasnosti... the Lieutenant of State Security in charge of the squad snarled at the two young soldiers,

'Out of the way. This is NKVD business.'

The two young soldiers stood their ground. The taller one looked the fat officer straight in the eye, and replied,

'I'm sorry Comrade Lejtenant; I am ordered to refuse entry to anyone.'

The fat Lejtenant exploded;

'Out of the way, you little shit! Are you blind?... or just fucking stupid?'

He drew his Nagant, and waved it at the young soldier.

'Get out of the way before I blow your stupid, fucking head off!'

The young soldier held his nerve.

'I'm sorry, Comrade Lejtenant; but I have my orders.'

The big Guards sergeant appeared in the doorway behind him. The NKVD Lejtenant eyed the wide block of medal ribbons and the two High Bravery Orders pinned above it; that the big sergeant wore on his olive service gymnasterka. He hesitated; then he snapped...

'Get this little shit out of our way, or you'll get one too.'

The big sergeant shouldered his men aside; stepping up to the crimson-faced Lejtenant. Shoving his jaw right into the Lejtenant's face, he growled...

'Then you'd better make it a good one, sonny... otherwise, I'll rip your fucking head off and shit down the hole in your neck!'

The NKVD Lejtenant gaped... as though he could not believe his ears. He thumbed back the hammer of his Nagant...

Then, he caught sight of the GUGB Praporshchik standing behind the sergeant. His eyes took in the uniform with the unmistakable raspberry piping, and the special oval, embroidered sword and shield patches on the upper sleeves that glittered ominously in the light thrown from the still-burning gas lamps in the station building entrance. His stomach turned over; and very carefully, he eased forward the Nagant hammer and lowered the weapon.

The GUGB Praporshchik stepped forward. His rank was two levels above the NKVD Lejtenant. He snapped his fingers;

"Gosudarstvennoi Bjezopasnosti, Mockba; Propusk!"... 'State Security, Moscow; Your Papers!'

His eyes were icy-cold. The Lejtenant and his goons fumbled for their documents. They were shocked. THEY normally played this game with THEIR victims. The GUGB Praporshchik thumbed through the pristine... and hardly ever handled documents. He spoke; his voice was cold and menacing.

'You will comply with my Guards trooper's instructions... or do you fancy a little vocational duty up in the pleasant and peaceful winter resort of Kolyma?'

Watching the sheer terror flood into the NKVD Lejtenant's face, the Guards sergeant was hard-pressed to suppress a grin. Well, that certainly marked that fat fucker's card!

Handing the documents back to the admonished goons, Anton then instructed them what their task would be. It was their firm's mess; they could clear it up. The passengers were not to be interrogated; they had already been investigated, and this was a clear case of a loose-cannon faction in their office at Novosibirsk. A report had already been forwarded to GUGB Moscow Central; and if they were wise; they would simply carry out the required investigation. They should not even contemplate any sort of cover-up to protect their Novosibirsk chums... or they might well find themselves all lined up amongst the pine trees, as well.

The NKVD Lejtenant came swiftly to attention; frantically grasping for anything that might redeem some small morsel of authority. His jaw trembled... as though he was about to start gasping like a goldfish out of water. He managed to snap out...

'Certainly, Comrade Praporshchik; we shall carry out an in-depth investigation immediately.'

Anton looked him up and down as though he was something he had stepped in on the pavement. After a pregnant pause, he said,

'Very well; Comrade. The isolated coach is being uncoupled in the far siding. I suggest you get your men over there to begin your investigation.'

The NKVD Lejtenant ordered his men down off the platform to begin crossing the tracks. Anton had taken an immediate dislike to this officious, fat bastard, and his thuggish cronies. He half-hoped that they might cross into the path of an express steaming through the station on the "down" line... Damn! There was nothing coming!

The fresh locomotive was being reversed up, with the original front coach and the replacement coach already coupled. Time to get the passengers out, ready to board. He had arranged with the Krasnoyarsk Station Master that the young Provodnitsa, Jereni Cherevin would share the duties of the replacement coach with the kindly, middle-aged Provodnitsa from the original first coach. This would keep her mind occupied until they reached Irkutsk; when she would be taken off the express and flown back to Moscow.

As the passengers began boarding, the engineers were making the final coupling to the remainder of the express. The vendors and old Babushki had returned, and were crowding in; trying to salvage some business; cursing the NKVD for interrupting their trade. They were still jostling the coach windows and entrance doors as the steam whistle shrieked, and, with the coach couplings creaking and complaining as the slack was taken up; the Trans-Siberian Express began to move.

As the express gathered speed, and Krasnoyarsk station disappeared; Anton stood down the Guards sergeant and his squad; thanking them for their support. As the sergeant was about to disappear out of the rear door of the coach; Anton caught his arm. 'Would you actually have taken on that NKVD svoloch if he hadn't backed off?

The big sergeant grinned;

'Too fucking right! Nobody... but Nobody throws their weight about with my lads... unless it's me! And remember, Comrade; "Yabloko nikogda ne padayet slishkom daleko ot dereva"... 'An apple never falls too far from the tree.'

Anton stared at him. The sergeant laughed again.

'Cheka; 1918-22; fighting in the Ukraine against the Black Guards. You think I got this chest-load of fruit salad from fucking around guarding god-forsaken installations in the middle of nowhere?'

He laughed;

'Do svidan'ya, Comrade; wherever you're off to.'

He waved farewell, and stepped out onto the swaying connecting plates; yelling to his young troopers that they should get their arses into their bunks; as the Trans-Siberian Express rumbled and clattered over the spectacular, one kilometre long, six span, girder bridge over the Yenisei River.

On the south side of the wide waterway, the tracks curved sharply to the left, flanked by the seemingly endless outskirts of shabby houses; dismal industrial buildings and countless workshops. Eventually, the tracks suddenly veered to the right and the industrial sprawl of Krasnoyarsk thinned out as the encroaching forest, sprinkled with a smattering of villages, closed in. The tracks turned south for some twenty kilometres, and then turned into the east once more as they began to reach out for the distant mountains and Taiga forest.

As the express laboriously chuffed up the steepening inclines, they began to pass thick swathes of last winter's packed snow and ice in the shadowy hollows where the sun had not managed to penetrate, even now. The express climbed on higher and higher towards the mountains. Occasionally, the track snaked through deep ravines where the tracks clung to the sides of sheer escarpments above swiftly flowing rivers, hundreds of metres below. Now and then, the forest opened up to provide glimpses of the great, wide Siberian skies.

One hundred and ninety kilometres to the west, a track maintenance crew stumbled upon the mangled remains of the two NKVD shadows that Anton and Sacha had heaved out onto the tracks. Just as their executioner; the covert GUGB facilitator, Donya Jelavich, posing as the Provodnitsa, had envisioned; they had been hit by one of the heavy coal trains coming down the long incline. Their remains were scattered for more than a kilometre down the tracks. There wasn't very much left. What strewn-about remains there were, had been gnawed and torn by wolves and carrion birds.

The crew had seen a good many mangled corpses on this stretch of line; but they were usually animals that had strayed into the path of one of the huge coal trains that came down the incline at anything up to one-hundred-and-thirty Km/h. They gathered together what they could find, and piled the remains at the side of the tracks. There was nothing to identify who, or what the remains had been; other than they had been male. The crew chief sent two of his men back to Achinsk to report their findings. The Achinsk police weren't much interested; they supposed that the victims were probably fugitive Zeki from any one of the many Labour camps in the area.

In view of the suspicion that the two victims could have been fugitive Zeki; the Achinsk Police contacted the local NKVD office. They were even less interested. Dead Zeki were worthless; it wasn't worth wasting the time pissing about trying to find out which camp they came from. The wastage of Zeki in the camps was such; that they could squander weeks trying to establish where they came from, and there were plenty more Zeki to be had. The incident would be logged; and that was an end to it. The Policeman replaced the telephone receiver, shrugged, and turned to the two waiting maintenance crewmen.

'They don't give a fat flying shit. I suppose the best course of action is just to bury them out there where you found them.'

Back on the long incline below the Chulym River; the remains of Sergeant of State Security Konstantine Byko, and Sergeant of State Security Michail Krukov were shovelled up by the track maintenance crew, and dumped into a gulley a few metres in from the edge of the forest. Back in Sverdlovsk; their Service files were eventually stamped "Missing on Active Duty"; and filed away, to be forgotten. In the Achinsk NKVD Office; in due course, the log-sheet of the incident was filed under "Miscellaneous Incidents"; and Byko and Krukov joined the ever-growing community of unknown victims of "The Land of the Zeki."

Four-hundred-and-thirty kilometres east, Lejtenant Gozbezopasnosti Stanislav Lifshen was settling in as Commandant of Kraslag Kansk. P.O. Box 235 [17.] Word had spread like wildfire, through the guards that this new Commandant was a hard-nosed bastard from Minsk. The first thing he had done when he returned from dropping off the NKVD woman at Kansk aerodrome was to assemble the entire camp. The working parties had been brought back from the forests, and the guards were made to assemble beside the ranks of Zeki.

Lifshen had been appalled by the difference in the pitiful appearance of his work force... and the well-fed guards. How the hell could they expect him to meet the specified quotas for his camp if the work force was continually beaten and starved? He ordered that the three-cauldron system be immediately suspended. The Zeki would be fed properly until their strength returned. Then the three-cauldron system could be re-introduced. Gratuitous beatings by the guards were to cease immediately; as were the more barbaric punishments... such as the gruesome "Komariki"... where the victim would be stripped naked, hung crucifixion-style to a pine tree, and left to be fed upon by midges and mosquitoes. Any guard found disobeying this direct order would be Court-Martialled; and; depending on the severity of the mistreatment of his victim; would either be shot on the spot; or stripped of his standing as guard, and incarcerated in the camp as a Zek.

The "Urki"... the hardened, career criminals in the camp were to be segregated immediately. This would prevent them from preying on the ordinary Zeki. The practice of selective "Dokhodyaga" was, as of now, forbidden. This had been imposed when the prisoners were called out on a work detail, and they fell into line. The last man to line up would be shot as a laggard... "Dokhodyaga"... one weakened enough to be useless for work. This policy was supposed to ensure a constant inflow of new prisoners, providing fresh labour while weeding out opposition to Stalin and his party by the simple fact that a prisoner's most productive work was usually done in the first three months of his captivity, after which he or she was in so debilitated a state that the output of the inmate population could be kept high only by "removing"... killing off the exhausted prisoners and replacing them with fresh inmates.

The Guard Commander... Marchuk; stood, and listened to all of this with mounting rage. Who the fuck did this Minsk prick think he was? HE ran this camp. HE decided who would live and who would die. This Lifshen knew fuck-all about how to treat these cattle. Life here... up to now, had been fine. A great life; smacking a few Zeki about; the odd bit of target practice... and the women! They would willingly submit to the most debauched perversions imaginable for the promise of a few extra scraps of food. And now, this Belarus asshole of a Major was ordering it all to stop?

Lifshen had watched; as Marchuk's face slowly became redder and redder. He could see the rage building. He spoke sharply;

'Sergeant Marchuk. My office…Now!'

Behind closed doors; with Marchuk standing rigidly to attention; Lifshen spoke; his voice icy with menace.

'Marchuk; you will obey my orders. This is not your personal playground and harem. If you choose to defy me in this; I shall denounce you as having committed "Political errors"; abuse of official position, and an absence of self-criticism and vigilance. You will either be shot, or transferred to Kolyma. I will not tolerate insubordination in my Command. You are dismissed; and, if I see, or hear of you using that Nagajka again; I shall execute you, myself. Now get out!'

As Marchuk stomped across the compound, he was seething. This fucker Lifshen would have to go. Two hours later, he was amusing himself behind one of the barracks buildings, by beating three shades of shit out of some hapless old Zek who had dared to cross his path without grovelling before him to an acceptable level. As he raised the bloodstained Nagajka to smack the old bastard across the face once again, he heard the ominous sound of an automatic pistol being cocked behind him. He was about to turn round, when he heard Lifshen's quiet, cold voice. The Commandant had materialised behind him, as if, out of thin air. His approach had been so cat-like that Marchuk hadn't heard a thing.

Lifshen's voice was icy cold and portentous;

'I warned you about this, Marchuk.'

The last thing Marchuk heard was a sharp click. The 7.62mm, high-power, Tokarev round smashed into the back of his head, and blew most of his face away. The old Zek was splattered with blood, brain matter, and pulverised bone shards as Marchuk's head literally exploded. His body toppled... in almost the same manner that one of the Siberian cedars toppled, when felled by a camp working party.

The old Zek cowered before Lifshen, waiting for death. Dead men tell no tales; and, at least it would be a quick release from this living hell. But the shot never came. The old Zek dared to raise his head; and saw the Commandant glance at him and briefly jerk his head to one side... the unmistakable signal for the Zek to get lost.

As the old man scurried away; Lifshen turned; and seeing two, white-faced, shocked "siloviki"... guards, peering around the corner of the barracks building; pointed to the twitching corpse, and snapped...

'You two; get this useless piece of shit out of my sight.'

Then turning; he jammed his Tokarev back into its service holster, and stomped back to his office.

Word swept round the camp of the summary execution of Marchuk at the hands of the new Commandant. There would be no more of the Commandant's orders disobeyed or ignored at Kraslag Kansk. P.O. Box 235 [17.] A considerable number of its exiled prisoners... more than at any other camp; would, at length, survive the horrors of the Stalinist Gulag System.

As the Trans-Siberian Express forged on into the east, the passengers were settling themselves back into the usual routine of wandering up and down the corridors; peering out of the windows at the endless Taiga; and generally squandering their time until the next stopping place. In the last, but one compartment of the replacement coach; Anton was in deep, and serious conversation with Karyn and Sacha. He showed the photographs that he had discovered in the NKVD assassin's briefcase. He looked puzzled;

'Why should this little bastard have been issued with photographs of you two? I don't like this at all. All the alarm bells are going off. This smells like a high-level, NKVD double-cross.'

Sacha nodded;

'And not for the first time. You know that, in Moscow, Yezhov ordered me to liquidate Karyn when we had completed the expedition.'

Anton studied him for a while.

'I see. We'll need to be clever and devious now. I reckon you're pretty much the same build as Tasha. We'll fit you out in his spare uniform which I removed from the original compartment before those Krasnoyarsk NKVD assholes arrived. Then; if we get any other visitors; they'll think twice before they go for the young archaeologist if she's protected by two GUGB hard-asses.'

Sacha frowned;

'But what about Identity cards and documents?'

Anton laughed;

'And just who the hell is going to have the balls to challenge two GUGB Praporshchiki?... And even if they did; all I would do is flash my papers. They wouldn't dare to challenge both of us. That would be insulting me, you; and the GUGB uniform. We would be quite entitled to blow their heads off... and no-one would lift a finger to do anything about it.'

Sacha shrugged, and put on the uniform. There was no way anyone would not imagine he was a GUGB Praporshchik. Karyn rummaged in the Moscow briefcase and brought out the special Nagant holster with the two bulges in the holster flap that contained the "Bramit" suppressors; and handed it to him. She also brought out the three Bravery Order Decorations that she had removed from the NKVD uniform she had worn back in Minsk; when she had walked into the NKVD Headquarters, on Zakharievskaya Street; and totally intimidated the Head of the Minsk NKVD. She held them out in her hands;

'OK, boys; who wants what?'

Anton laughed;

'Making Heroes of us both! Let Sacha be the Hero of the Soviet Union... with the "Orden Lenina"... The Order of Lenin; and, seeing as how I'm the oldest; I'll take the "Orden Krasnogo Znameni"… The Order of the Red Banner, and the "Orden Krasnaya Zvezda"... The Order of The Red Star. They'll certainly give anyone something to think about before they dare challenge us now!'

He then told them that, while he was in the Krasnoyarsk Station Master's office he had phoned ahead to Irkutsk, and contacted his opposite number. The arrangements were; that a car would meet them at the station and take them to a little basin on the west bank of the river Angara; some three kilometres from the station. There they would board a Navy craft that would take them almost one thousand kilometres up the Angara beyond Bratskoi, to a tiny settlement named Sogra. Here, they would pick up their supplies; transport, and an Evenki guide. Then; it would be a difficult journey almost due north, for something like one hundred- and-fifty kilometres, to the last civilisation they would see for quite a while; at the little village of Vanavara. The actual epicentre of the event was; according to Kulik's notes; some seventy kilometres to the north of the village. The total distance from disembarkation at Sogra was close to two-hundred kilometres of Taiga and swamp... with very few tracks... let alone, roads. This was not going to be an easy expedition.