Faked Passports (59 page)

Gregory thanked him and the interview was over.

It seemed that there was nothing more he could do except wait for news, and he could only hope and pray that he would not be called upon to pass through further days of miserable uncertainty while the Russians were making the inquiries with their usual slowness. The only thing that cheered him a little was the fact that Voroshilov did not seem the sort of man who would let the grass grow under his feet; but having at last become aware of Colonel-Baron von Lutz's existence and his anxiety for his friends, would definitely do something about them. This proved the case, as barely an hour later Gregory was to be sent for by von Geisenheim, who told him that Voroshilov wished to see them again. They walked down the slippery, snow-covered track through the woods together, and after a short wait were shown in to the Marshal.

The interpreter-major, who was still with him, said at once: “The department concerned in Moscow has just telephoned a reply to our inquiry. On February the 28th they received a report that your friends were being held on suspicion of espionage at Kandalaksha. Apparently they told some story about having been in Petsamo on the day that war broke out, and having left there in an aeroplane for the purpose of getting in touch with the Military Intelligence section of our Northern Command.”

Gregory was ready for that one, and nodded. “We said that, because we hoped to be transferred immediately to Murmansk, as from there my friends could have got a ship to take them along to Norway, once I had got in touch with the Marshal and secured his consent to the arrangement.”

When Voroshilov learned what had been said he smiled and made a remark which was translated as: “Evidently your friends
feel that they cannot get too far away from the Gestapo.” And the interpreter went on:

“Moscow got in touch with Military Intelligence at Murmansk by wireless, but naturally, in view of what you say, Murmansk knew nothing of the prisoners, so the inquiry was refered to the German Embassy, who took the matter up with Berlin. The Embassy replied on March the 2nd that the
Gräfin
von Osterberg is an enemy of the German Reich who has been found guilty of treason, by a court held during her absence, and condemned to death. The German Ambassador requested that in order to save time and expense permission should be granted for Gestapo agents to travel from Moscow to Kandalaksha to examine the other prisoners and carry out the sentence on the
Frau Gräfin
there.”

“
What?
” stammered Gregory. “But
good God
, how frightful!”

This bolt from the blue was worse than anything he had feared. He had been comforting himself for the last hour with the thought that the prisoner's journey,
via
Leningrad and Moscow, to the German frontier was bound to occupy several days, so with the Marshal's assistance he might be able to trace them to the place they had reached and secure their release; but if Gestapo agents had already been sent to Kandalaksha to execute Erika this last hope was now gone.

“Was—was the permission granted?” he asked almost in a whisper.

“Yes,” replied the interpreter: “on March the 5th.”

Voroshilov said something in Russian and von Geisenheim translated. “The Marshal says that he is so sorry to learn that
Herr
Himmler has managed to overreach Marshal Goering in this private vendetta of his against at least one of your friends. However, he remarks upon your good fortune in having managed to reach his headquarters; because you, von Lutz, were reported as being with the
Frau Gräfin
and it seems that in your absence you also were condemned to death by a Nazi court held soon after the November
Putsch
, so if you were still at Kandalaksha you would share the
Frau Gräfin's
fate.”

Into Gregory's stricken mind penetrated the fact that the General spoke of Erika as though she was still alive, and a second later he realised that it must be so. It was only March the 6th, so the Gestapo execution squad could not have left Moscow earlier than the previous evening and the night train would have arrived in Leningrad only that morning. Between leaving
the one train and catching another for the North they would certainly go to an hotel in the city for a meal and a bath and, after their night sitting up in the train, would probably go to bed for a few hours' sleep before proceeding on the much longer stage of their exhausting journey. In no case would they have left Leningrad until after lunch and it was possible that they did not intend to catch a train north until the evening; so the prisoners at Kandalaksha were as yet ignorant of the menace that was moving slowly but inexorably towards them and Erika had at least another day and a half to live.

With a surge of new hope Gregory asked if the Marshal would arrange for the authorities in Leningrad to be spoken to on the telephone and told to hold the Gestapo men, if they were still there; or, alternatively, issue counter-orders and have the prisoners brought to his headquarters.

Voroshilov's reply was to the effect that the Gestapo agents would be travelling on a Foreign Office permit and he could not interfere with Foreign Office affairs. On the other hand, in military matters he was the supreme authority and, as the prisoners were in the hands of the Military, he would be happy to oblige Marshal Goering by snatching his friends from the clutches of the Gestapo; but the difficulty lay in conveying such an order to the Governor of Kandalaksha in time to save the
Frau Gräfin
. There were many lines from this, the main theatre of war, to Leningrad and Moscow, but to the northern front communications were far from reliable. On several occasions the Finns had even succeeded in cutting the railway just south of Kandalaksha, and heavy falls of snow frequently broke the telephone and telegraph wires. One such blizzard had brought down miles of line only two days ago.

“Why not get in touch by wireless?” Gregory suggested at once.

The interpreter shrugged. “Kandalaksha is only a backwoods town. There is no radio station there.”

“What would the Marshal do, then, if he had urgent orders for the Governor of Kandalaksha?” Gregory asked.

“Send a plane. But the Governor does not control our fighting forces up there, which are many miles further west on the Finnish frontier, so there are never any urgent orders to be sent to him.”

“Cannot the Marshal send me up there in a plane on this occasion?”

The request was transmitted to Voroshilov and the reply
came back. “The Marshal regrets, but that is impossible. The war with Finland is not yet over and every plane we have is required for military purposes. He begs that you will not think that he has been made cynical by the sight of so much death, but he points out that this is a purely private matter and—willing as he would be to oblige you in other circumstances—he cannot divert a military plane from its duties for your use at such a time.”

“Could he have me flown to Leningrad?” asked Gregory desperately. “There must be planes constantly returning there from their advance bases. If he could, I should arrive in time to catch a train leaving this evening; perhaps the same one on which the Gestapo men will travel or, anyway, one that leaves a few hours after theirs; in which case I might manage to reach Kandalaksha before the
Frau Gräfin
is actually led out for execution.”

Von Geisenheim put this up to the Marshal and they had a brief discussion in Russian as to how long it would take Gregory to reach the nearest airfield, get to Leningrad by plane, and from the air-port there to the Northern Railway terminus; after which they decided that it was a hundred to one on the Gestapo agents having at least several hours' lead of him, so that the
Frau Gräfin
would almost certainly be dead by the time he arived at Kandalaksha. But at the end of the discussion Voroshilov stood up, looked at Gregory and said something which the interpreter translated as:

“Are you a brave man and are you prepared to undertake a most hazardous journey? If so the Marshal can suggest a way which will give you a much better chance of saving the
Frau Gräfin
than any you would have if he sent you in to Leningrad by plane or car.”

“I am prepared to undertake
any
journey,” Gregory replied firmly.

Voroshilov moved over to a large map of Western Russia and Finland that was nailed up on the wall. Speaking swiftly he touched Viborg, Lake Ladoga and the great bend in the Leningrad-Murmansk railway. His Staff-Major then interpreted for him.

“The Marshal says that while he cannot spare you a plane he will willingly place at your disposal cars, sleighs and horses. He suggests that you should cross the Karelian Isthmus to the south-western shore of Lake Ladoga, cross the ice of the Lake to Rabaly, on its north-eastern shore, and proceed from there to
Petrozavodsk, on Lake Onega. Cars and racing-sleighs move as fast as trains in Russia. From here to Petrozavodsk by the normal route is over 560
versts
; but by following the tangent across the arc it is barely 300. The Marshal warns you that in crossing the Lake you will risk capture by the Finns and that, in any case, it will be a most terrible journey; but if you decide to adopt this plan it will give you a real chance actually to get ahead of the Gestapo men and catch a train at Petrazavodsk before any train which left Leningrad this afternoon can reach it.”

“If the Marshal will provide me with facilities for such an attempt I shall be eternally grateful,” Gregory replied eagerly, “and I cannot thank him enough for his brilliant suggestion.”

There was another short conference, then the Major sat down to a typewriter. He tapped out two documents which the Marshal signed. Picking them up the Major handed one of them to Gregory.

“This,” he said, “is an order for the release of your friends. It is addressed to the Governor of Kandalaksha or any other military authority who may be holding them in custody, so that it will still be operative should they have been transferred to any other place during your absence. Now, about your journey. The Marshal will place a car at your disposal to take you across the Isthmus to the Headquarters of the division that is holding the south-western shore of Lake Ladoga. I will telephone them at once, instructing them to provide you with a racing-sleigh and guides for crossing the Lake to Rabaly. From there on you will have to make your own arrangements, as communications with the north-western shore of the Lake are difficult and unreliable.”

Handing over the second paper he went on: “However, this is an open order to all officers and officials of the Soviet Union within the
Zone des Armées
to assist the Colonel-Baron von Lutz, by every means in their power, to travel, either alone or with his companions, with the utmost speed wherever he may wish to go. Since it is signed by Marshal Voroshilov as Supreme Commander and Commissar for Defence, you may be sure that you will have no difficulty whatever in obtaining the quickest possible means of transport. When will you be ready to start?”

“In a quarter of an hour,” Gregory replied, placing the papers carefully in his pocket. He would have said ‘at once', but he knew that to keep up his vitality he ought to snatch a quick
meal before leaving, and he wanted to collect the few belongings that he had acquired in Leningrad.

“Very good,” said the Major. “In a quarter of an hour I will have a car waiting for you outside this office.”

The Marshal wished him good luck, asked to be remembered to his old comrade-in-arms, Kuporovitch, and shook hands again. Gregory expressed his most grateful thanks and, with von Geisenheim, withdrew.

“Two hundred miles across country over snow sounds a most ghastly trip,” the General said gloomily, as they walked back to the Mess together. “Do you think you'll be able to make it?”

“God knows!” Gregory muttered. “Every moment will be precious, as we can be certain that the Gestapo men won't give Erika even an hour's grace once they get there, so it will be a neck-to-neck race. But I may just beat them to it if I don't meet with any unforeseen delays.”

In the Mess he made a hasty meal of soup,
brödchen
and coffee substitute, then having had a large flask filled with vodka he repaired to his own hut to collect his things.

The light was on when he opened the door and he saw a broad, uniformed back bent over a suitcase. The man turned at that moment and he found himself staring into the solitary eye of Gestapo Chief Grauber.

For a moment the two men stared at each other, speechless with surprise, but it took Gregory only a fraction of that time to guess how it had come about that he found Grauber unpacking a suitcase in his room.

He had been so preoccupied over lunch with the thought of his coming interview with Voroshilov that at the time he had hardly taken in something Major Woltat had said to him. It had been to the effect that he had received a wireless message from Berlin that a number of other officers were on their way by plane to join the German Military Mission; mainly engineers who were coming out to examine the undamaged forts in the Mannerheim Line when the Finns surrendered and the Russians took them over. The Major had gone on to say that as accommodation was limited he would have to put one of the new arrivals in Gregory's room. Evidently Grauber had come in on the plane that afternoon and an evil fate had decreed that he should be chosen as Gregory's stable companion.

It took Gregory barely a second to realise what had happened and in another he had answered his own question as to why Grauber should have accompanied a group of engineer officers to the Russian front. As the Chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department U.A.-1 that bird of ill-omen appeared almost automatically at each point outside Germany to which the main interest of the war shifted. The surrender of the Finns appeared imminent, so what was more natural than that the Gestapo Chief should pay a flying visit to the Soviet General Headquarters, where the military side of the negotiations would be conducted?