The Secret Speech - Страница 47

— They requested food. We have given them a crate containing the kind of food they haven’t seen in years, tinned fruit, meats, sweets. They will eat like pigs. Except we have added a little something…

— The food is poisoned? They’ll make the guards eat it first.

— The food is laced with a toxin. In six hours they’ll fall unconscious. In ten hours they’ll be dead. It doesn’t matter if they test it on the guards. There are no immediate symptoms. In eight hours we’ll storm the camp, injecting our fellow guards with the antidote and leaving the rioters to die. Even if every prisoner doesn’t try the food, most will and the number of prisoners will be heavily depleted. We must resolve this revolution before Moscow and her spies start to interfere.

There was no doubt in Leo’s mind: this was the man who had ordered Timur’s death. Barely containing his anger, he remarked:

— An excellent plan, sir.

Prezent nodded, smirking at his murderous ingenuity. He thought so too.

Dismissed, Leo returned through the command headquarters to the truck. He reached the cabin, climbing in, feeling the same rage he’d experienced upon seeing Timur’s watch. He looked out of the smashed window in the direction of Abel Prezent. They had to leave now. This was their only chance. Everyone was preoccupied with the plane. Yet he couldn’t — he couldn’t allow Prezent to get away with it. He opened the cabin door. Georgi grabbed his arm:

— Where are you going?

— There’s something I have to take care of.

Georgi shook his head:

— We need to go now, while they’re distracted.

— This won’t take long.

— What do you have to do?

— That’s my concern.

— It is ours too.

— That man murdered my friend.

Leo pulled free. But Lazar leaned across, taking Leo’s arm, indicating that he wanted to speak. Leo lowered his ear, Lazar whispered:

— People don’t always get… what they deserve…

With those faint words, Leo’s indignation was extinguished. He dropped his head, accepting this truth. He hadn’t come here for revenge. He’d come here for Zoya. Timur had died for Zoya. They had to leave now. Abel Prezent would get away with murder.

SAME DAY

THE SHADOW CAST BY THE MOUNTAIN enveloped Gulag 57, stretching across the plateau, reaching out toward the temporary military encampment. Abel Prezent checked his watch: the toxin would be taking effect very soon; prisoners would be falling unconscious. They’d timed it carefully. At night, no one in the camp would think it odd that prisoners were tired. Before their suspicions were aroused the ground troops would advance, unseen, cutting through the fence and regaining control. The prisoners would be killed, except for a token number necessary to fend off accusations of a massacre. News of the success would spread through the region. Every other camp would receive the clear message that the riot had failed and that the Gulags were here to stay, that they were not the past — that they were part of the future, that they would always be part of their future.

— Excuse me, sir?

A bedraggled guard stood before him.

— I was on the truck, from Gulag 57. I’m one of the injured officers they released.

The man’s arm was bandaged. Abel smiled condescendingly:

— Why aren’t you in the medical tent?

— I faked my injuries to get on board the truck. I’m not seriously hurt. The doctor says I’m fit to report for duty.

— You needn’t worry about your comrades. We’ll be launching our rescue soon.

Abel was about to move away. The man persisted:

— Sir, it wasn’t about them. It was about the three men driving the truck.

SAME DAY

DRIVING ALONG THE HIGHWAY at night, guided by dim headlights, Leo strained forward, clutching the steering wheel, peering into the darkness. Nothing more than adrenaline was holding back exhaustion. The journey toward Magadan had been made possible by the monotonous simplicity of the descent, with only the narrow timber bridge proving difficult. Now, for the first time, the lights of Magadan could be seen at the foot of the hills on the edge of the sea — a vast black expanse. The airstrip was close, just north of the port.

There was a whistling noise. Ahead of their position an orange flare hung in the night sky, fizzling phosphorus light. Launched from the edge of the town, a second flare was fired, then a third, a fourth — orange stars along the highway. Leo slammed on the brakes:

— They’re searching for us.

He killed the headlights. Leaning out of the smashed window, he looked behind them. In the distance were numerous sets of headlights, snaking down the mountain:

— They’re coming from both directions. I’m going to have to drive off-road.

Georgi shook his head:

— No.

— If we stay on the highway they’ll find us in minutes.

— Off-road, how long then? You need more time.

Georgi turned to Lazar:

— I’ve accepted that I will never leave Kolyma. I accepted that fact a long time ago.

Lazar shook his head. But Georgi, the man who’d served as his voice, was adamant:

— For once, Lazar, listen to me. I was never going with you to Moscow. Let me do this.

Lazar whispered to Georgi, words that for once he didn’t have to voice out loud, words that were for him alone.

A second wave of flares was launched, sweeping light up the highway, moving ever closer. Leo got out of the truck, Lazar followed. Georgi took the steering wheel. He paused, glancing through the smashed window at Lazar, before uncertainly driving off, toward Magadan. Lazar had lost a part of himself — he’d lost his voice.

On foot, Leo and Lazar stumbled in the dark over uneven icy terrain toward the flickering lights of the airstrip. Georgi had been right. The ground was so uneven the truck would’ve become stuck within a matter of minutes. Spasms of pain shot through Leo’s legs, causing him to fall. Lazar helped him up, supporting him. Arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, they were an unlikely team.

Another barrage of flares was launched into the sky, their orange Cyclops eyes concentrated on the highway. There was gunfire. Leo and Lazar paused, turning around. The truck had been found. It accelerated toward a roadblock. Under heavy fire, the truck seemed to veer left and right, out of control, continuing briefly along the highway before skidding off and rolling onto its side. The authorities would find only one body. They would quickly widen the search. Leo observed:

— We don’t have long.

Approaching the perimeter of the airstrip, Leo paused, studying its primitive layout. There were three parked planes. The only one that could make the journey across the Soviet Union was the twin-engine, Ilyushin Il-12.

— We walk to the Ilyushin, the largest plane — we walk slowly, like nothing is wrong, like we’re supposed to be here.

They stepped out into the open. There was a handful of ground crew and soldiers. There were no patrols, no sense of urgency. Leo knocked on the plane’s door. He’d been promised they would be ready to fly at a moment’s notice. Since there’d always been a chance that the escape might be delayed, Panin had assured Leo that there would always be someone on board no matter what time they arrived.

Leo knocked again, a frantic impatience building as each second passed. The door opened. A young man, not much more than twenty years old, peered out. He’d evidently been dozing. A faint smell of alcohol leaked from the cabin. Leo said:

— You’re here under Frol Panin’s orders?

The young man rubbed his eyes.

— That’s right.

— We need to fly back to Moscow.

— There are supposed to be three of you.

— Things have changed. We need to go now.

Without waiting for an answer, Leo climbed up into the plane, helping Lazar in, shutting the door. The young man was puzzled:

— We can’t fly.

— Why not?

— The pilot and copilot aren’t here.

— Where are they?

— Having dinner, in town. It will only take thirty minutes to bring them back.

Leo estimated they had about five minutes at the most. He concentrated on the young man:

— What is your name?

— Konstantin.

— Is the plane ready to fly?

— If we had a pilot.

— How many times have you flown?

— This plane? Never.

— But you’re a pilot?

— I’m training. I’ve flown smaller planes.

— But not this plane?

— I’ve watched them pilot it.

That would have to do.

— Konstantin, listen to me very carefully. They’re going to kill us, you as well, unless we take off right now. We can either die here or we can try and fly this plane. I’m not threatening you. These are our options.

The young man stared at the cabin. Leo took hold of him:

— I believe in you. You can do this. Ready the plane.

Leo took the copilot’s seat, an incomprehensible panel of gauges and buttons before him. His knowledge of planes was rudimentary. Konstantin’s hands were shaking.