Chapter Twenty-Four.

07.15am, Thursday, 25th August, 1938. The little, blue-painted wooden station at Kansk-Eniseiskiy was almost deserted. The old Babushki were only just beginning to unload their wares from their communal lorry and set up their stalls. The other traders hadn't even started to arrive yet. A few drab, melancholy-looking passengers huddled on the benches outside the station building, trying to stay out of the bitter wind that gusted down the tracks bearing the first flurries of snow from out of the north-east.

The flight from Vanavara had been uneventful, and the previous night had been spent in the rudimentary comfort of two rooms in the Officer's huts at Kansk aerodrome. The west-bound "Russiya" was due to arrive at Kansk-Eniseiskiy at 07.46am. After a substantial, early breakfast at the aerodrome, Karyn and Lifshen had been driven down to the station in the C.O.s' GAZ saloon. As they had departed from the aerodrome down the steep incline to the main road; the skies to the north and east were rapidly changing from an insipid, watery-blue, to a dirty, yellowish-grey as a snow-front swept in from off the distant Laptev Sea.

As they arrived outside the station the wind was rising and the snowflakes were getting larger and thicker. Karyn stepped out of the car noting the gaggle of itinerant traders and shady characters loitering around the rear entrance to the station building, who obviously spent their time intimidating and fleecing the more faint-hearted passengers. They began to saunter towards her, attracted by the expensive-looking briefcase attached to her wrist by a security chain. The contents must be valuable... and easy pickings from this slim blonde girl. They spread out to block her path... then froze, as Lifshen, in his full NKVD uniform appeared from behind the car, with his hand resting on the Tokarev holster at his belt.

They began to slink back towards the station wall, avoiding eye contact with this menacing NKVD Officer. He took her arm and walked straight through the middle of them to the rear entrance. At the door, he turned, and watched them cringe under his icy stare. He studied each of them in turn with a lengthy, cold, portentous gaze, then turned, stepped through the entrance, and slammed the door shut.

The station waiting room was occupied by a dozen or so dull-eyed, nondescript men and women... mainly middle-aged, and dressed in heavy winter clothing which gave them all the same drab appearance. As Lifshen strode in, they shrank back onto the rough benches that lined the little waiting room; glancing at the NKVD with nervous eyes. Lifshen ignored them and suggested Karyn order two glasses of tea from the tiny counter that passed as the station buffet, while he negotiated the provision of two tickets with the Station Master. Under normal circumstances, they would hold travel warrants; but, this was not a normal circumstance, and a little "negotiation" would be required.

Karyn moved across to the little counter and ordered two glasses of tea from the red-faced, elderly woman in charge. When she returned with the glasses, her gnarled hands trembled slightly as she carried the tea. Perhaps this was an indication of arthritis in her fingers... or it might have been her ill-concealed nervousness of her customers. Karyn smiled, and asked the price. With her anxiety plain in her bright blue eyes, the woman replied that there was no charge for honoured members of the Security Services.

Karyn thanked her, and wondered how she might carry both glasses, encumbered as she was, with the briefcase security chain around her wrist and the briefcase handle in her hand, but the woman said she could take her drink at the counter; then scuttled back into the tiny kitchen where she began washing and polishing any utensil that came to hand... anything to avoid eye contact with the NKVD when he returned... such was the widespread fear imposed by the uniform.

Five minutes later, Lifshen returned with the tickets which he had obtained by means of bribery, or intimidation... or both. He smiled, and brandished them triumphantly.

'Spalny vagon; all the way to Moscow. At least we'll be comfortable for the rest of the journey.'

Karyn motioned to his glass of tea.

'There you are, Lifshen. So how much did they cost?'

He shrugged.

'Four Gold Chervonets coins. Far more than the normal tariff, but the Station master will ensure we have private compartments, and all meals will be included in the price.'

He reached for his tea. As he raised it to his lips, the mournful echo of a steam whistle penetrated the brooding silence of the little waiting room. Not one of the waiting passengers moved... they almost resembled snow hares frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. The Station Master scurried out of his tiny office and deferentially approached Lifshen. With a nervous, obsequious smile he announced that the "Russiya" was now on the final section of the down line, and would be arriving directly. He had telegraphed back to Irkutsk, and was informed that the first coach was unoccupied. They could have complete privacy, and the Provodnitsa of the second coach would be instructed to attend to their every need. Lifshen permitted himself a furtive smile... Perfect!

The Station Master ushered them to the door. As he opened it, an icy gust blew in and rattled the cheap pink glass shades of the wall lamps. The other passengers remained mute, and cowered deeper into their thick scarves and collars. Lifshen glanced outside as the huge, green 0-10-0 locomotive slowly grunted and huffed past, with clouds of steam billowing from the venting piston chests, and the steam brakes of the coaches screeching and squealing. As the express lurched to a standstill, the Provodnitsa of each snow-streaked coach banged her door open in a well-orchestrated movement as the line of old Babushki and assorted traders braced themselves for the stampede of customers. Only a few intrepid travellers decided to brave the gusting snow, clattering warily down the icy steel steps of the coaches. The Babushki and traders immediately began a noisy competition amongst themselves to attract what sparse custom there was; proffering their wares, and trying to shout each other down against the rising moan of the bitter wind and the flurries of snow.

The Station Master escorted Karyn and Lifshen through this medley of gesticulating arms and hoarse cries to the first coach. The Provodnitsa of the second coach had been summoned, and followed them aboard. As the Station Master had said; the first coach was unoccupied. While Karyn and Lifshen each chose a compartment, the Provodnitsa... a large, dough-faced, middle aged woman with two prominent steel teeth and scraped-back mousey-blonde hair, was cursing volubly as she struggled to light the obstinate samovar at the rear of the coach.

Karyn surveyed her compartment. It had the same layout as the one she had shared with Sacha on the outward journey, except that the panelling was a much paler shade of mahogany, and the velvet curtains were a much darker red... almost burgundy. Other than that, it was identical. She gazed out of the window, which was gathering tiny delicate spider webs of frost in the top corners. The compartment was vaguely warm; it would obviously take a while for the heating to warm up. She fitted the little key into the lock of the briefcase security wrist strap to remove it. As she did so; the creaking of tightening couplings faintly echoed down the coach as the wheels began to roll, and the Trans-Siberian express pulled out of Kansk-Eniseiskiy; gathering momentum slowly against a background of deep chuffing from the locomotive and the creaking of the compartment panelling. She glanced out of the window. All along the overgrown sidings were littered the scarred, crumbling boilers of ancient steam locomotives, rotting, derelict Tepluschka... the large goods wagons that have traversed Russia since there were railways; being used for transporting soldiers, or horses... or prisoners to the Gulag; and the rusting hulks of long abandoned coaches.

The snow was falling heavily. Karyn decided that she would lie down on the bunk and rest for a while. The first major stop would be Krasnoyarsk; almost three-hundred kilometres west. She glanced at her watch; a quarter-past-eight. That meant the express would arrive there at around lunchtime. She locked the compartment door and lay back on the bunk. Within ten minutes, the gentle bouncing of the coach and the hypnotic "dah-dum-dadum, dah-dum-dadum"... "dah-dum-dadum, dah-dum-dadum," of the wheels over the rail joints had lulled her to sleep.

She awoke to a firm knocking on the door. It took her a few moments to gather her thoughts. She pushed the briefcase onto the top bunk and folded it up to its closed position. Swiftly tidying her hair, she unlocked and opened the door to be faced with Lifshen dressed in the Air Force Khaki gymnasterka piped in Air Force cornflower-blue, with matching collar tabs, and the pair of Khaki sharovary he had been issued with at Vanavara. She smiled; though her thoughts were, why was he posing as an Air Force Officer? Why did he not want any of the passengers to know he was NKVD? He smiled; a seemingly friendly, open smile.

'We are past Krasnoyarsk. It's time for lunch. Let's get down to the restaurant car and see what today's menu is.'

She nodded, and followed him down the corridor.

The restaurant was busy. The diners looked up as they entered, and watched as the dashing "Air Force Officer" and his pretty blonde companion took a table in the corner. The waitress approached, and Lifshen produced a docket which he showed to her. She nodded and brought a menu. Today's main dish was "Solyanka"... beef broth soup with sausage, meat, various peppers, and the usual sour cream. He ordered, and asked for a bottle of vodka and two charkas.

When the food came, he opened the bottle and poured two stiff measures into the charkas. They were larger than the familiar charkas, and Karyn wondered just what he was plotting. He clanked his charka against hers and said, in a louder voice than was really necessary:

"Chtob vse byli zdorovy"... 'Let everybody be healthy.'

Several of the diners repeated the toast; smiling in the direction of Lifshen and Karyn. She smiled and repeated the toast, but her senses were on the alert. Why had he drawn attention to them... and in such a manner? Was he trying to coerce more witnesses to presume that they were just another happy couple?

Several charkas of vodka later and with the meal consumed; Karyn and Lifshen rose to leave the restaurant car. As she stood up, Karyn swayed, and was steadied by her dashing "Air Force Officer." The other diners smiled knowingly. His luck would be in when they finally reached their compartment. He put his arm around her and guided her, giggling, out of the door.

He was not to know that this seemingly tipsy girl could have probably drunk him under the table; so convincing was her behaviour. This would be too easy. He laid her on the bunk in her compartment, closed the door; and returned to his compartment. He changed back into his NKVD uniform and checked his Tokarev. He smiled complacently as he screwed the Bramit suppressor into the muzzle; opened the door and walked back along the corridor to her compartment.

Opening her door; he stood in the doorway. He was surprised to see that she no longer appeared drunk. She looked up, and the beginnings of her smile faded as she saw the gun. She stared at him.

'Lifshen; what are you doing?'

He smiled coldly.

'As if you haven't guessed. Hand over the metal block that Sergeyev found in Kulik's hut.'

Karyn studied him with a long, steady stare.

'So; you have been working for Yezhov all along.'

He laughed; an ugly, harsh laugh.

'So much for the deductive powers of the "Master Race." I have never worked for that perverted dwarf. I answer to Comrade Beria. I have been his man in the Minsk NKVD Directorate since he discovered Yezhov's intrigue with your idiot Himmler. We supplied your Soviet Identification document, although I was surprised that he issued you with an OO-GUGB pass. The intrusion at the Academy was orchestrated to provide a credible reason for me to be sent to Siberia. It was quite a little play-act. We concluded from your file that you would react in exactly the way that you did when I threatened you, back in the Academy.

Surta was also Beria's man. He arranged for a uniform of a suitably intimidating rank to be provided for you. We knew that when you confronted Tartakow he would he would get rid of me as soon as he possibly could, to prevent any shit muddying his little pond. The NKVD are completely predictable. They can never accept that they are in the wrong, and therefore, will never investigate one of their own.

We were fully aware that Sergeyev was OZNAZ, and working secretly for Yezhov; so we allowed him to play his dirty little game until he revealed his true allegiance. It was unfortunate about the killing of your three GUGB protectors; but, as we say: "When you chop wood, people get hit by the splinters." As it stands; it has all worked out quite neatly. The killings on the Trans-Siberian Express will be seen as being the result of ongoing enmity between criminal factions of the NKVD and GUGB. So, now...'

He raised the Tokarev;

'It's just a matter of tying up the loose ends.'

Karyn looked at him steadily. Her mind was coolly calculating whether she could reach into the briefcase and grasp the Mauser before he realised what she was doing. She decided to play for a few more moments of time and, perhaps, distract him enough for her to open the flap of the briefcase and aim, and hopefully fire the weapon accurately. Affecting a curious tone; she asked,

'Why is this lump of metal so important, Lifshen?'

He gazed indifferently at her.

'I suppose it doesn't matter that you know now. The knowledge won't do you, or your Masters much good. When we searched the Academy archive in Minsk after you left; we discovered a diary belonging to murderer named Kulagin who was executed in 1933. The diary mentioned that one of Kulik's guides gave him a lump of metal said to have been found embedded in one of the fallen trees of Tunguska.

Kulik was unable to determine what sort of metal it was. It could not be drilled, he was unable to saw through it; and when returned to Moscow, it could not be cut in any way, even with the best machine tools available at the time. There was great hope of being able to make more of this material to use as armour for tanks. The sample was misplaced, and when Yezhov agreed to your expedition, he ordered that any other metal discovered at Tunguska be brought to him. As I said; his star is beginning to wane with Comrade Stalin, and he stupidly imagined that any such discovery would bring him great power over his rivals.'

Karyn nodded.

'So why didn't you let Sacha shoot me?... or, for that matter; why didn't you shoot me yourself back at the hut?'

Lifshen gave a thin smile.

'Another loose end. Too many people knew you were out there, and too many questions would have been asked if the whole expedition had simply disappeared. As it is; I now have plenty of witnesses who can confirm that you returned, and boarded the Trans-Siberian Express for Moscow.'

His thin smile vanished, and his face hardened.

'And now, Fräulein Doktor; nothing personal... but, it's the end of the line.'

His thumb closed over the hammer of the Tokarev. Karyn froze. She could never reach the briefcase in time. She closed her eyes and heard the sharp report of the gunshot. She felt nothing... so this is how you died... no burning impact of the bullet; no searing pain... nothing. Her eyes flickered open. Lifshen was still standing before her, with blood pouring from his nostrils. Then, he fell... like a sack of coal; revealing a figure in the corridor behind where he had been standing.

The Provodnitsa stood at the doorway with a smoking Korovin TK pistol in her hand. As Karyn stared at her, open-mouthed; the woman spat at Lifshen's sprawled body, and hissed,

'NKVD svoloch!'

She took a pace forwards and viciously kicked the corpse hard in the ribs; the force of which, rolled Lifshen over, exposing the neat bullet wound in the back of his skull.

At last; Karyn found her voice. Falteringly, she asked...

'Why?'

The Provodnitsa stared with utter disgust at the still-twitching corpse; then spoke.

'My name is Nina Segelman. As you can probably guess from that; I am Jewish. Six years ago, while I was on the "Russiya" run to Vladivostok, these pigs dragged my family from our home in Podolsk simply because someone denounced my father as being an Enemy of the People, and sent them to Solovki prison where they all died building the White Sea canal. I have killed every one of these swine who has ever ridden my coach in retribution for my family.'

Karyn stared at her; taken aback by the calculated vehemence in Nina Segelman's voice. She was silent for a few moments, then asked,

'So, how many have you killed?'

Nina Segelman smiled; an icy, blood-chilling smile.

'With this pig... Twenty-three; including two Commissars.'

Karyn stared at Lifshen's corpse, then back to Nina Segelman.

'But, how do you get rid of them? Anyone might discover them on a busy train.'

Nina Segelman laughed; a joyless, wry laugh that caused Karyn to shiver.

'I lock the body in its compartment, and at night, I strip it and throw it off the express on some remote section of the line. The bears and wolves do the rest. The uniforms are bundled in sheets and dropped off to a contact at the Company laundry at the Yaroslavsky Rail Terminal. He sells them on to the criminal underclass. There is a ready market for NKVD uniforms in Moscow.'

Karyn raised an eyebrow.

'Only if you don't get caught. Then it will be a "Lubyanka breakfast."

Nina Segelman laughed again.

'No one knows where the bundles come from... except from a Company train; and if they don't know, they can't tell.'

A little after six o'clock in the evening, and some eighty-five kilometres west of Krasnoyarsk, the Trans-Siberian began its descent of the long, forested incline that led up to the Chulym river. The snow storm was approaching blizzard conditions and the passengers were huddled in the warmth of their compartments. There was no one out in the corridors to see the Provodnitsa Nina Segelman heave the naked body of Lejtenant Gozbezopasnosti... Lieutenant of State Security Stanislav Lifshen, late of the Minsk NKVD Directorate off the walkway of the first coach, to land on the ballast with a dull, sickening thud and roll down into the trackside drainage ditch where it would be swiftly blanketed in a shroud of fresh snow.

08.20pm, Saturday, 27th August, 1938. The snowstorm was lessening as the Tran-Siberian express pulled into the pink, and white- brick, cream pillared, four hundred metres long, Sverdlovsk Station. There would be a reasonable wait here while the locomotive was changed and a fresh crew allocated. There were few passengers braving the bitter wind that moaned across the tracks. Even the old Babushki huddled in groups against the pillars of the station wall.

Karyn locked the briefcase in the vacant Provodnitsa locker at the front of the coach, and walked along the corridor to the rear door, glancing out of the windows to check if there were any suspicious characters about. There didn't appear to be anyone out of the ordinary in sight. Carefully she alighted from the coach and, with her head pulled down into her collar against the gusting flurries of snow, hurried into the station building.

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The usual drab collection of passengers in the large, brightly lit waiting room huddled on the benches, eyed her apathetically as she crossed the grimy, scratched marble floor towards the Station Master's office. She paused at the door and rapped smarty upon the fading panel with her gloved knuckles; then opened it and entered his office. The Station master looked up. He was an elderly man with a deeply-lined face, and pale-grey, watery eyes that had probably watched the storming of the Winter Palace. He was dressed in a worn Company uniform with dull buttons, and sat behind a large mahogany desk with a scarred and ink-stained top. As she entered he stood up. She produced her OO-GUGB identity card and informed him politely that she required the use of his telephone. He nodded, and pointed to an ancient Bakelite telephone on a shelf against the wall. She nodded and moved towards the instrument, noting that his eyes were watchful and alert.

As she lifted the heavy handset; he excused himself and left the office, closing the door. Would he be standing outside with his ear pressed against the thin panelling? Probably not. He would be too familiar with the methods of the Security Services; and what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

She carefully removed the fold of rice paper from behind the mirror of her powder compact. A telephone number was written on it in cochineal food colouring... a Moscow number. This was the special number given to her by Hans von Herwarth back at the German Embassy in Moscow. She had been instructed to use it when she was coming back in. He had said that it was not a secure number... few were, in Moscow, these days. Therefore a conversation in specific terms was required. She would say that she was returning from Siberia with a contract for importing Sable pelts for the furrier trade. The contact name she would use would be "Yulia." She should ask whoever answered if they could send a car to collect her from Yaroslavsky rail terminal. She would be met, and her Diplomatic Passport would be handed to her as she left the train.

She dialled the number. It rang for a few seconds before she heard the click as the handset was lifted. There! Almost immediately; a second softer click as whoever was eavesdropping, picked up their slave handset! A cultured voice spoke in Russian.

'Komachenskiy Furrier Company; How may I help you?'

Karyn spoke carefully; choosing some completely innocuous surname.

'Comrade Matsevich? This is Yulia. I have secured the contract and will be arriving on the "Russiya" at Yaroslavsky on Monday evening at ten minutes-past-nine in the evening, Moscow time. Could you please send a car to collect me?'

The voice replied,

'Yes, Yulia; I can certainly arrange that. Our competitors have been very busy recently, and I would hate to have them learn of our success.'

This meant that the NKVD and Militsaya were crawling all over Moscow for some reason.

The voice continued.

'Dimitri will meet you. Have a safe journey. I hope to see you Monday evening at the office.'

This meant that there were intensive checks being carried out at Yaroslavsky rail terminal by the Militsaya... and the NKVD security investigators. The phone went dead. She replaced the handset and tucked the fold of rice paper back into her powder compact. She would swallow it later... when she was certain she would not have to use the number again. As she came out of the office she saw that the Station master as on the far side of the long waiting room fiddling with the timetables on the notice board. He hadn't been snooping on her telephone call. She walked across the room, nodded her thanks to him, and stepped out into the icy, billowing snow.

As she turned towards the train, she noticed, out of the corner of her eye; a movement in the shadows, about fifty metres back along the wall of the station. Someone had been standing against one of the pillars, and now began to follow her along the platform. She glanced back over her shoulder. The man's whole demeanour screamed "NKVD agent." Acting as though she had forgotten something, Karyn turned and walked back towards him. Quickly, he moved into the shadows of the station wall and went through the pretence of lighting a cigarette; with his back turned and his hands cupped around the flickering match, as if to shield it from the wind.

While his back was turned; she swiftly boarded the third coach and began to make her way forwards along the corridor; pausing, with her back to the section of coach wall separating each window, as he frantically scoured the platform and coach windows to see where she had disappeared to. This cat and mouse interlude continued in the same way until she reached the relative safety of her empty coach and locked the rear access door to the corridor behind her.

In the darkened coach; she cautiously pressed her cheek against the icy-cold window glass of the corridor end window and looked back down the platform. The man was still hurrying up and down, peering through the snow flurries into each coach window. As he continued his search, the locomotive steam whistle shrieked into the night, and the couplings began to creak and groan as the Trans-Siberian express began to move. She just managed to catch a glimpse of him running to the train and boarding it at about the fourth coach back.

The empty coach was still chilly. Nina Segelman had obviously stoked the heaters earlier while Karyn was back in the restaurant car, to stop the coach water supply from freezing as the temperature had dropped like a stone; and a warm glow was coming from the samovar brazier. Karyn sat on the bunk in her compartment and wondered who the hell this man was, and what he was doing following her... or was she just imagining things?

She left the lights switched off, and walked forwards to the locker where she had placed the briefcase. Retrieving it, she came back to the compartment and locked the door behind her. Opening the briefcase, she took out the silenced Mauser and laid it on the bunk. She glanced out of the window. It was pitch black, with snow streaking the window. She closed the heavy curtains and switched on the little table lamp. There would be no show of light escaping from the compartment that might give the lie to the appearance that the entire coach was deserted.

She undressed, and smoothed the sheets of the bunk before slipping in between them with a shiver, as she settled down waiting for the warmth from her body to envelop her. The coach bounced gently as she lay and listened to the soothing "dah-dum-dadum, dah-dum-dadum; dah-dum-dadum, dah-dum-dadum" rhythm of the wheels on the rails, while she tried to figure out what the situation was. There was obviously some sort of power struggle occurring in the NKVD. Was this suspicious character who seemed to be following her another of Beria's agents? If so, had he been briefed on her, or was he just looking out for lone female travellers?

Her mind began to wander as she snuggled down sleepily. The Mauser was within easy reach. The doors were locked. From outside; the coach appeared to be unoccupied. She was as safe as she would ever be if her suspicions were well-founded. With the familiar sounds of the railway surrounding her... the soft clank and heave of the couplings, the hiss of snow against the window; the deep chuffing of the locomotive, and the occasional whooshing sound of a goods train passing, heading east; drowsiness crept upon her, and she fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

She was woken the next morning by the soft click of a key being turned in the compartment door lock. Swiftly gathering her thoughts, she reached for the silenced Mauser as the door handle began to turn. A figure appeared, silhouetted against the morning light streaming in through the corridor windows. It was the Provodnitsa, Nina Segelman; carrying a small tray, upon which was balanced a glass of tea, a plate of Blini, and a selection of sandwiches. As Karyn lowered the Mauser, Nina Segelman smiled.

'Impressive... and very sensible. You nearly had a surprise visitor early this morning. I found a man trying to open the rear door of this coach. He had been checking out every woman passenger on the train, according to my comrades. He could easily have been searching for you. He boarded back at Sverdlovsk; and according to the other attendants; worked his way through each coach in turn. He smelled like a Militsaya plain-clothes man. I told him that this coach was empty and sealed; and was due for fumigation in the Moscow yards, because one of the passengers who boarded at Vladivostok began to show the early symptoms of Typhoid fever, and had been taken off and isolated at Chita. He didn't hang around for long after that. He obviously hadn't found what he was looking for, and left the train at Perm, to wait for the next westbound "Russiya."

She grinned, conspiratorially; showing her steel teeth.

'He'll be in for a long, cold wait. The next "Russiya" runs twelve hours behind us!"

Having eaten her breakfast; Karyn decided that she had better think about getting herself washed and dressed. After the usual scramble for the washrooms, having the coach to herself was a luxury, without the little crowd of unwashed and semi-dressed men and women standing about the corridor, all smoking cigarettes, eyeing their neighbour with suspicious glances in case there was some under-hand move to get possession of the washroom first. The other advantage was that the water was hot.

Feeling much better; she returned to her compartment and drew back the curtains. It had stopped snowing, and the rolling countryside was a pristine white. The Trans-Siberian was beginning to slow. This would be Balezino; almost twelve-hundred- kilometres from Moscow. She had slept as the express had crossed through the Urals... just as she had on the outward journey. It would be wise to draw the curtains again. The locomotive and crew were changed here, and the front coach was supposed to be quarantined, according to the notices Nina Segelman had pasted onto both front and rear doors. There should be no clue that anyone was occupying the coach... especially after her disquieting incident with the sinister pursuer at Sverdlovsk.

She lay on the bunk and wondered if anything else was likely to happen between here and Moscow. What awaited her in Berlin? How would Himmler react to the artefact? She reached into the briefcase and lifted out the metal block. It looked so innocuous... just a block of shiny metal with a strange, engraved inscription. She studied her original notes. Even if she destroyed the critical letter frequencies; they might still be able to decipher the dire warning contained in the engraved legend.

Four of the five vowels were used in the inscription. The most prevalent were the letters "E," "I" and "O." Of the consonants; sixteen were used... again, the most prevalent being the letters "T," "R" and "L." A relatively unskilled Deutsches Ahnenerbe cryptanalyst could build on this and eventually decipher the legend. The only way to ensure that this could never be accomplished would be to destroy her entire notebook. How could she convince Himmler that the notebook had been lost?

As she lay in the semi-darkness listening to the clang of the wheel-tappers hammers and the hiss of steam as the fresh locomotive was brought up; an audacious plan began to form. She would say that after they had found the metal artefact; Sergeyev had attempted to dispose of her by shooting her and trying to finish her off by drowning her in one of the Siberian rivers. As she had struggled, the notebook had been lost. She had eventually escaped by shooting him, but only after she had been wounded. She needed a bullet wound... nothing serious; but not self-inflicted. She would need the help of Nina Segelman.

She waited in the darkness until the Trans-Siberian had pulled out of Balezino and was well on its way towards Kirov. She gathered her notes, and walked to the rear of the coach. Opening the little cast-iron door to the heater that warmed the water and the interior of the coach; she stuffed them in amongst the glowing coals. As they ignited, and six months work began transforming to ash; she hoped that she was, indeed, preventing the dreadful malignancy of the metal artefact from ever being unleashed.

Nina Segelman should be returning to collect the tray soon, and then, Karyn would put the plan to her; explaining that she was in fact an undercover investigator for the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, and needed indisputable evidence... such as a bullet wound, which would be used to implicate several High-ranking NKVD officers in a plot that she had been investigating.

Nina Segelman returned as the express was passing through Zuevka. Karyn explained her plan and the reasoning behind it and watched the woman's expression change at the mention of implicating the NKVD. She nodded, and reached for her little Korovin TK pistol. Karyn shook her head. The NKVD didn't use a little weapon like that. She handed Nina Segelman the silenced Mauser. This was going to hurt. Nina stepped out into the corridor and stood at the rear door. She said that Karyn should go to the other end of the coach and stand at the front door. That way; if the bullet penetrated the metal, it would hit the rear of the locomotive coal tender, and the sound would be lost in the general clanging and clanking of the locomotive.

Karyn stood against the metal door and prayed that Nina Segelman was a good shot. She closed her eyes and heard a muffled "phut," followed immediately by a terrible, searing pain in her upper left arm. Then, the lights went out and she was falling into a bottomless black pit. When she swam back to the light, her arm was throbbing in perfect time with her heartbeat, and Nina Segelman was binding her arm with a bandage from the Provodnitsa first aid kit. She held out a bottle of vodka and told Karyn to take a good swig. It would dull the pain. It had been a good shot, in spite of the bouncing of the coach. The bullet had seared a shallow furrow across the skin of her upper arm muscle; just a graze, really... but enough to look convincing. She had dressed the wound with iodine to stop any infection, but the bullet had effectively cauterised the wound and it wasn't bleeding too much. Now, Karyn should lie down and rest.

They were only sixty kilometres out from Kirov; just under a thousand kilometres from Moscow. There were only two more locomotive changes, including this one at Kirov. She would bring Karyn her meals, so that she would not have to go back to the restaurant car. With a smile, she laid the silenced Mauser on the compartment table; tucked the sheets around Karyn and left the compartment.

Karyn awoke almost nineteen hours later, to the sound of Nina Segelman entering the compartment with a glass of tea. Sleepily, she asked where they were. Nina Segelman said that they were approaching the rail junction at Danilov. They would change the locomotive and crew for the last time before the final run of three hundred and fifty kilometres up to Moscow. Karyn glanced at her wristwatch. It had stopped. She sat up and paused on the edge of the bunk, still half-stupefied from her lengthy sleep. Her arm throbbed. Shaking her head to try and clear the fogginess from her brain, she glanced out of the window, and realised how hungry she was.

Nina Segelman said it was almost two-thirty in the afternoon. She would go and get Karyn something to eat from the restaurant car. Today's lunch was Bitochki... meatballs in mushroom and sour cream sauce; boiled potatoes and fried mushrooms. Karyn said that would be fine, and followed Nina Segelman out of the compartment, intending to go to the washroom. She glanced out of the corridor window at a train slowly lumbering past on the furthest east-bound track... a sinister-looking train made up of dark green coaches that had no windows in the front two-thirds of their length. The windows in the rear third of each coach were heavily barred. Nina Segelman said she should not stare; that it was dangerous to pay any obvious attention to them. The train was a prison transport bound for the Gulag.

The strange coaches were called 'Stolypinki'... specially adapted passenger coaches containing internal cages for the prisoners to be held in groups under guard. Spotlights were mounted on the leading coaches to illuminate the train at night, and iron spikes were fastened underneath each coach so that if anyone managed to escape through the floor and lie down between the tracks, they would be scooped up and impaled by the spikes. Each coach had the words "Special equipment" marked in large Cyrillic letters on its side. This explained the presence of guards armed with machine guns or automatic weapons on the roofs of the coaches. The prisoners could not be seen from the outside.

Nina Segelman pointed to the faint aura of steam that rose from the coaches in the icy air. That was the heat from the packed prisoners. If the wind was in the right direction… which it was today; you could smell them across the expanse of the four tracks that separated the two trains. She said that the locomotive was from the Leningrad sheds. The occupants would already be suffering from being packed into the overcrowded cages. If they were going anywhere beyond Krasnoyarsk; half of them would be dead before they reached their destination.

Karyn swiftly turned away from the window. Who were these prisoners? Nina Segelman shrugged; almost anyone they decided wasn't worth the price of a bullet. You could easily be imprisoned in a Gulag camp for "crimes" as trivial as being overheard telling anti-government jokes.

As she ate her meal; Karyn thought how familiar Nina Segelman's ironic reply was, to what was being said back in Berlin concerning the State's attitude to personal freedom. OK, so they didn't actually ship whole groups of people off to God only knows where... not yet; and surely they never would. The German people would never stand for it. But even as she had these thoughts; Karyn was filled with a creeping feeling of unease of what was gathering pace in her homeland.

She stared out of the window, watching the countryside roll past. The Trans-Siberian was making good time. They had crossed the Volga River at Yaroslavl and were now thundering through beautiful, snow-garlanded birch and evergreen forests, with the slipstream of the express wafting a halo of powdery snow in its rushing wake.

The forests thinned swiftly; and they were out into open steppe once more. Out to the left, Karyn could just make out the pristine mirror of Nero Lake, reflecting the soft blue of the clearing skies. They were nearing Rostov; less than four hours to Moscow.

There was a soft tap on the compartment door. Nina Segelman had returned to collect the crockery. She carried her Provodnitsa first aid kit and said she should dress Karyn's arm again. The graze that the bullet had made was livid and weeping. Strangely enough, it wasn't too painful now. Nina Segelman smiled, and said she had something that would help the healing. She brought out a tiny porcelain pot containing a bright yellow salve, which she gently smeared across the wound. She said this was Asian Marigold. It came from Nepal, and was much used to heal wounds. The salve was soothing and cool, and the aroma brought back to Karyn memories of long summer days in her parent's garden back in Grünheide.

Having bandaged Karyn's arm; Nina Segelman collected the crockery and said that Rostov was only ten minutes away. While the Trans-Siberian was stopped, she would remove the quarantine notices from the doors. Karyn should remain in her compartment until the express pulled out of the station; then, as they would only be two hundred and twenty four kilometres from Moscow, she should begin to collect her belongings in readiness for the next part of the plan.

Karyn stared at her.

'What next part of the plan?"

Nina Segelman grinned.

'I'll come for you when we reach Pushkino. It's only thirty kilometres from Moscow-Yaroslavsky, and I want you in the second coach. You never know who will be watching when we pull in, and if you get off with the other passengers, rather than alone; then you will be much safer. Those NKVD pigs might well be watching for a lone woman passenger... especially one as striking as you.'

Hans von Herwarth, Second secretary of the German Embassy in Moscow, stood beyond the checkpoint gates of Yaroslavsky Rail Terminal, dwarfed by two monumental, blonde-haired "Assistant Cultural Attachés," who looked as though they had exchanged their Schutzstaffel uniforms for business suits only a short while ago. The station was crawling with Militsaya and assorted sinister characters attempting to act casually; but hard-eyed and constantly alert. They could only be NKVD. What the hell was going on? The two muscular "Nordische" Gods flanking him, watched with impassive, icy blue eyes as the two plain-clothes men standing next to the uniformed train agent interrogated yet one more frightened, hapless passenger; scrutinising his papers and consulting the long, closely-typed lists attached to their clipboards. Von Herwarth watched, almost sympathetically, as a young, ashen-faced couple were taken away into one of the station side rooms for not producing their papers quickly enough.

The train agent; the same, arrogantly aggressive, beery-faced Slav who had been on duty at the beginning of Karyn's journey; sneered at the young couple's misfortune, and turned to intimidate his next victim in the line of fearfully submissive passengers. Snapping his fingers, he snatched the papers from an old lady; glanced at them, and threw them forcibly onto the table, where the plain-clothes men studied them intently. The old lady stood there, pale-faced and fearful, while the men went through their routine. They made her stand there for ten minutes as they scrutinised their lists with unnecessary thoroughness.

Hans von Herwarth heard the larger of the blonde giants behind him; give a barely discernible intake of breath in disgust. Even an old Untermensch woman deserved a little respect. Von Herwarth gave him an admonitory glance. Embassy staff were impartial. He noted the bulges under both their jackets, and hoped their discipline would hold. His thoughts were interrupted by a steam whistle. He glanced up at the station clock. 8pm; right on time. The big locomotive coasted into the station in a cloud of venting steam. The squeal of the steam brakes echoed the vast engine shed, as the snow-streaked "Russiya" shuddered to a standstill. The Provodnitsas banged open the doors and the passengers began to clatter down the metal steps of the coaches, rousing the indolent, loitering watchers scattered along the platform. They began to move towards the burgeoning crush of passengers; circling like a pack of predatory wolves. The train agent rubbed his hands together with relish. More cattle to put through the mill.

Hans von Herwarth scoured the throng of passengers for "Yulia." He caught a glimpse of a young blonde woman alighting from the second coach. Then she was lost from his sight in the crush of passengers obediently lining up to have their papers examined and their reasons for travelling to Moscow to be substantiated by in-depth, intrusive questioning. He motioned to his two Herrenvolk warriors to be ready to move quickly if a Diplomatic Immunity extraction of the girl became necessary.

The train agent was enjoying himself. Adrik Malakhovskii had terrorised his hapless victim passengers for two years in his position of authority at Yaroslavsky Rail Terminal. It was a great life. The power that his uniform gave him to ruin other peoples' lives was exhilarating; not bad for a snot-nosed kid from the Moscow slums who had grown up surrounded by beggars, thieves, and whores in the notorious Khitrov market which had been flattened by the authorities in the early twenties as a festering blot on the Moscow downtown landscape. He had already pulled four out of the queue for the goons to go to work on. He smiled balefully as he turned his attentions to the next in line. The old man wasn't quick enough producing his papers with trembling withered hands that suggested the onset of Parkinson's disease. Malakhovskii began cursing the old man.

'For Christ's sake get a move on, you useless old bastard. You're holding up the line!'

The two plain-clothes toughs sitting at the table grinned broadly. Malakhovskii was on form tonight. One of them; Sergeant Konchin, turned back to the line, and glanced up into the clear blue eyes of a pretty blonde girl carrying a brown briefcase attached by a security chain to her left wrist. As he opened his mouth to challenge her; she produced an identity card which she held out between two slender gloved fingers for him to read. His grin disappeared; instantly wiped off his face by the stab of cold fear as he read the card: "4th Department. Special Section. OO-GUGB."

Forcing a smile; he waved her through. He was wise enough to realise that you didn't fuck about with people who carried these sorts of credentials. As she moved towards the gate, Malakhovskii grabbed her by the arm; demanding her papers. She merely paused; half-turned towards him, and said, icily,

'Release my arm immediately.'

Malakhovskii grinned, and ignored her. Konchin tried desperately to attract his attention, but Malakhovskii was too busy enjoying himself.

'Papers, suka; and what's in the briefcase?'

He reached down to grab the briefcase. Konchin just knew that any second, all hell would break loose. The line of passengers were shrinking back from his table in fearful apprehension of what was manifesting at the front of the line. He scraped his chair back; intending to intervene... to tell Malakhovskii of the dreadful mistake he was making... too late!

At the same moment that Malakhovskii's hand touched the briefcase; the girl drew a pistol from beneath her jacket... a Mauser Bolo with an unusual silenced barrel. Konchin recognised it immediately, and his stomach turned over. Only two sorts of people carried that particular weapon, these days… Lubyanka "Likvidators" and OZNAZ agents. The girl levelled the weapon at Malakhovskii's head. Her voice was frighteningly calm and the tone was icy enough to freeze blood.

'Remove your hand immediately.'

Malakhovskii didn't flinch. He was either very brave, or very, very stupid. The girl repeated her command, for what, Konchin knew, would be the last time. His legs were somehow refusing to move. It was almost as if time itself had suddenly stopped. None of the Militsaya or the undercover NKVD agents were doing anything to stop this. Everyone seemed to have been turned to stone. Suddenly, the spell was broken as three of the plain-clothes characters began running towards the girl; drawing their pistols.

Hans von Herwarth motioned his men forward. They had, perhaps, taken no more than a couple of steps when they heard a sharp "Phut" as she squeezed the trigger. Malakhovskii; with a large, neat hole in the centre of his forehead, was hurled backwards, splattering the wall with blood, brains, and bone splinters as the back of his head exploded.

The girl turned, and walked through the gate to the two huge young men in suits who stood; hard eyed, with Tokarev pistols drawn as they surveyed the pandemonium that erupted out on the platform. The three goons stopped dead as they saw the two massive young men in suits close ranks behind her. They looked at the blonde giants; looked at the cocked Tokarevs; then shrugged, turned, and slunk away.

The girl was greeted by a third man who seemed to be in charge; then the party turned and walked calmly out of Yaroslavsky Rail Terminal to the waiting black ZIS Government limousine.