Tapestry of Spies Part 6

After the war, he again pa.s.sed from view as he returned to the secret life of the conspirator. Few facts were forthcoming on this period, though Comrade Captain Bolodin sought them with special fervor. At the point of death, an old Rumanian confessed that he had heard that Comrade Levitsky had arranged a.s.signment to the Otdyel Mezhunarodnoi Svyazi, the International Liaison Section of Comintern, where he could privately pursue his goal of world revolution and safely ignore Koba as he ransacked the revolution. Comintern, it was also stated, was really but an arm of the GRU, Red Army Intelligence, whose policies it pursued with an almost n.o.ble integrity. It was said that Levitsky carried a high, secret rank in the GRU. It was said that when the GRU lost favor to the NKVD, Levitsky's magic protection began to wither away, his freedom to say unkind things about Koba, his ability to shock at social gatherings with his imitation of Koba at the chessboard, all these disappeared. He was being watched. But they were, on the whole, mysterious years: no witnesses knew enough to tell Lenny more than he already knew.

The arrests began in 1934. Koba arrested him then, and again in 1935; he spent time in Siberia, six frozen months as a zek zek in one of the prison camps, before "rehabilitation," and returned from the East with his particularly forbidding dignity, which most interpreted as pessimism and which, most agreed, doomed him; his last days were spent in the Lux Hotel, waiting for something ... or waiting for Koba's final justice. Whether he was affiliated still with GRU was unknown. in one of the prison camps, before "rehabilitation," and returned from the East with his particularly forbidding dignity, which most interpreted as pessimism and which, most agreed, doomed him; his last days were spent in the Lux Hotel, waiting for something ... or waiting for Koba's final justice. Whether he was affiliated still with GRU was unknown.

These shreds of fact and bits of legend Lenny acc.u.mulated over a few weeks; for them all, the payment was the same: the bullet in the skull. And from them, he determined where he might be able to find what he needed most in his quest.

It was a steelpoint etching from a quick sketch done in 1901 in the Great Hall of the Casino at Karlsbad of the champion of the chess tournament. It has been printed within the pages of Deutsche Schach-zeitung Deutsche Schach-zeitung, the German chess magazine. It was a picture of a fierce young Jew, and the caption under had read, Der Teuful Selbst, E. I. Levitsky Der Teuful Selbst, E. I. Levitsky.

It took Lenny a week to find it in an antiquarian bookstore in the Gothic Quarter.

6.

THE AKIM AKIM.

LATE IN THE MORNING, A CALM FELL ON THE TIRED old scow. No breeze furled the flat sea; the sky was cloudless, but white and dull with oppressive radiance. It was a warm, almost tropical day. old scow. No breeze furled the flat sea; the sky was cloudless, but white and dull with oppressive radiance. It was a warm, almost tropical day.

Sylvia noticed it first.

"We seem to be dead in the water," she observed, looking up from her copy of Signature Signature. "I hope nothing is wrong." She sat on a canvas chair on the Akim's Akim's small pa.s.senger deck beneath its battered bridge and single stack with her two fellow pa.s.sengers. small pa.s.senger deck beneath its battered bridge and single stack with her two fellow pa.s.sengers.

"Perhaps they wait for a clearance or something," said Count Witte, the Polish correspondent.

"Can we be that close to Barcelona?"

"I don't know, dear girl," he said.

"What do you make of it, Mr. Florry?" she asked.

It was another in the constant barrage of questions she had for him. She was a young Englishwoman of his own age and the middle cla.s.s, who had, if he understood correctly, come into some money, picked up a taint of fas.h.i.+onable leftist politics, and was now headed to Barcelona for adventuring. Though her questions were generally stupid, it pleased him to be asked them. She had so many!

Florry, also sitting on a deck chair, put down Tristram Shandy Tristram Shandy and said, "With this lot of amateurs one can never tell. I suppose I ought to go check." and said, "With this lot of amateurs one can never tell. I suppose I ought to go check."

"If you can make yourself understood," said the count, an aristocratic old man in a yellow panama hat and monocle. "These monkeys are hardly human."

The count had a point: the crew of the old steamer consisted largely of semicivilized Arabs, wily, barefoot primitives in burnooses and filthy whites who scuttled about her rusty chambers and funnels like athletes and spoke in gibberish. The officers were only slightly better: two smarmy Turks who always needed a shave and spoke in impenetrable plat.i.tudes in answer to any query. Tell them their hair was on fire or some fellow had stuck a knife between their shoulder blades and they'd have answered the same: All is well, all is well, and praise to Allah.

"I suppose I shall have to ask the b.l.o.o.d.y steward," Florry said. "At least he's European."

"Good heavens," said the count, "if you consider that that chap European, Mr. Florry, you have extremely low standards." He made a face as if he'd just swallowed a lemon, and followed it with a quick wink. chap European, Mr. Florry, you have extremely low standards." He made a face as if he'd just swallowed a lemon, and followed it with a quick wink.

"Keep the pirates off Miss Lilliford, will you, count?" Florry called, leaving them.

He set out in search of the steward, but of course the old fellow was not always that easy to find. He was a seedy but kindly chap officially charged with attending to their needs on this short voyage from Ma.r.s.eilles to Barcelona and, more important, charged with helping the cook. He was not the sort of man who took duty seriously, however; he spent his time affixed to a secret flask of peppermint schnapps, for he wore the odor of the liquor about him like a scarf.

Florry climbed down through the hatchway and made his way into the oily interior of the craft. Twice, he stopped to let jabbering Arabs by. They salaamed obsequiously, but he could see the mockery in their bright eyes. He pressed on, and the temperature rose and the atmosphere seemed to thicken with moisture; it was actually steamy.

He finally found the old man in the galley, where he sat hunched in his filthy uniform, slicing onions into a large pot and weeping copiously. As Florry approached he realized Gruenwald had really been on a toot this morning, for he smelled like a peppermint factory. He also gleamed with sweat, for the temperature in this room was even more grotesque than in the pa.s.sageway. Florry mopped his face with a handkerchief, which came away transparent.

"I say, Mr. Gruenwald. The s.h.i.+p is no longer moving. Do you know why?"

"Hah?" replied old Gruenwald, scrunching up his face like a clown's. "No can I quite hear."

"We've stopped," Florry shouted over the clamor of the engines. "In the water. No propeller. No move. Understand?"

"Stopped? Wir halten, ja?" Wir halten, ja?"

"Yes. It's upsetting. Is anything wrong?"

"Ach. Nothing is. Is nothing. Nein Nein, is nothing."

Old Herr Gruenwald leaped out of the galley-the Arab cook cursed him to Allah as he rose, but he paid no attention-and pulled Florry out through a hatchway onto a rusty lower deck-ah, fresh blast of salt air!-where he settled into the lee of a rotting lifeboat and bade Florry collapse beside him.

"Hah. You some schnapps want, ja, Englischman?"

"No, I think not. Awfully nice of you though," Florry said. Take a swig of that? that? Revolting! Revolting!

"Ach. You should relax, no? Relax. Old Gruenwald, he take care." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his flask, swiftly unscrewed the lid, and took a swallow. His bony old Adam's apple flexed like a fist as it worked. He handed the flask to Florry. "Go on. Is gut." gut."

Florry looked at the thing with great reluctance but in the end didn't want to seem an utter prig, and so took a swift gulp. It was awful. He coughed gaspingly and handed it back.

"Good, nein?" nein?"

"Delicious," Florry said.

"We stop because the Fascists sometime bomb docks in daylight. We stop here until five, ja. Then we go in in dark. So? Is okay?"

"Yes, I see." Florry looked out across the flat, still water.

"Not so long to wait, eh, Herr Florry?"

"Not if safety's the issue. I'd hate to think of what a bomb would do to this old tub."

"Boom! No more tub, ja?" The old man laughed merrily, took another swig from his flask. "The Queen Mary, nein Queen Mary, nein, eh, Herr Florry?" he said conspiratorially, gesturing down to the paint-flecked, rust-pitted deck.

"Nor, I trust, the Lusitania." Lusitania."

The old man laughed.

"I had a brother killed in the Unterseeboots. Ja Unterseeboots. Ja. 1917."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Ach. No matter. He vas b.a.s.t.a.r.d, anyhow. Hah!"

Florry nodded sweetly, seeming to pay attention, and then said, "Come on, now, old fellow. The true reason. Don't let's play games."

Gruenwald professed indignation and shock at the accusation.

"Hah. Gruenwald tell truth. Ja, Ich-" Ja, Ich-"

"Now, now, don't get excited. Perhaps you are. On the other hand, I can't imagine the owners of this wonderful oceangoing paradise would be too pleased to have it inspected terribly closely, would they? Unless my nose deceives me-and I've got a very good nose-I think I make out the undertang of tobacco amid the general welter of odors available below decks. Tobacco's contraband, I believe, in Spain. That, I believe, is the reason for our delay. So that we can sneak in under cover of darkness. d.a.m.ned interesting." Florry gave the old man a sly look.

Gruenwald was gravely offended. "Herr Florry, you must zay nothing of zis! You keep your nose clean. Ja? Ja? You are at risk if you go about-" You are at risk if you go about-"

"Don't worry, old fellow. I personally don't care what's done with the stuff, just so it doesn't inconvenience me unduly. All right?"

"Herr Florry, you be careful. Barcelona is very dangerous."

"Why, there's no fighting there anymore."

"You listen gut gut, Herr Florry, I like Englisch peoples, even if they kill my brother in 1917. Hah! You be careful. The man who own zis boat, he is very powerful. He would not like young Englisch gentleman go around town talk about tobacco. Ja! Ja! Bad trouble for someone who do this. There are many ways to die in Barcelona." Bad trouble for someone who do this. There are many ways to die in Barcelona."

"Well, that's a fair warning given, and I shall take it to heart. Thank you, Herr Gruenwald."

"Ja, Gruenwald not zo zmart these days. I vas vunce real zmart. But in here, now, ist-how you say?"-he tapped his head and leaned close to Florry, his pepperminty breath flooding all over the Englishman-"luftmensch. Ah-"

"Crazy, we would say."

"Ja! Ja! Crazy, I got blown up by the Frenchies in the great war. In here metal Crazy, I got blown up by the Frenchies in the great war. In here metal ist ist. A big plate. Like as you would haben die zup haben die zup-eat your dinner off. Ja Ja, metal in the head, ja ja!"

"Good heavens," said Florry.

"In the war. The war was very bad."

"Yes, I know."

"How would you know, Herr Florry? You are too young for zuch things."

"Yes, I suppose I am," said Florry.

The old man took another swig on his flask and then another. His eyes seemed dead.

"Mr. Florry, where on earth have you been?" been?" she asked, as he at last returned. she asked, as he at last returned.

"I am am sorry," he said. sorry," he said.

She lounged on a chaise in the pale sun. Count Witte, his jacket off and folded, a pair of circular sungla.s.ses perched comically across his face, lay beside her. He was reading a book in Polish.

Florry quickly explained. "And so we sit," he concluded. "I suppose if you choose a vessel that asks you no questions, then you must not ask questions of it." it."

"A good principle, Mr. Florry," called Count Witte. "It's as true of political parties as well. And also"-he added with another wink-"of women."

"Count Witte, you are such an old charmer," said Sylvia.

"Miss Lilliford, you make me wish I were a young young charmer." charmer."

"Well," said Sylvia, "at least it will give me a chance to get all this read by landfall." She meant her pile of magazines. "At least then I shall have some understanding of things."

"It is exactly when one thinks one understands a revolution," said the count, "that the revolution changes into something that cannot be understood."

"I certainly understand the basic principles," boasted Florry. "They are threefold. It there's shooting you duck and if there's yelling you listen and if there's singing you pretend you know the words."

"Exactly," said the count. "Mr. Florry, we shall make an international correspondent of you yet."

The girl laughed. Florry pretended not to notice, as he'd been pretending not to notice since he came aboard three days earlier and discovered her on the deck. She was as slender as a blade, with a neck like a c.o.c.ktail-gla.s.s stem. She had a ma.s.s of tawny, curled hair. She was about his own age, with gray green eyes. He did not think her terribly attractive, but nevertheless found himself taking great pleasure in the sound of her laughter or the sense of her attention when he talked politics with the sardonic old Witte.

"Oh, Mr. Florry," she had said, boldly speaking first, "you know so much." much."

Florry knew it not to be true, but found himself smiling again.

By five, the Akim Akim had begun to move again, and shortly before nightfall, the pa.s.sengers could see the long, thin line of the Spanish coastline. had begun to move again, and shortly before nightfall, the pa.s.sengers could see the long, thin line of the Spanish coastline.

"Look, Mr. Florry," Sylvia called from the rail. "There it is. At last."

Florry went to her.

"Hmm, just looks like the other side of the Thames to me. One supposes one should feel some sense of a great adventure beginning. I'd rather spend a night in a bed that doesn't rock quite as much as this one."

She laughed. "You're such a cynic"-and she gave him a slightly oblique look from her oddly powerful eyes-"except that you aren't." aren't."

"I tend to put my own comforts first, I suppose. Before politics and before history. And before long, I hope."

She laughed again, which pleased him. Then she said, "I don't feel the adventure, either, to tell the truth. What I feel is a sense of confusion. This war is a terrible mess. Only this fellow Julian Raines, the poet, can seem to make any sense of it. Did you read his piece on Barcelona?"

The name struck him uneasily.

"Brilliant fellow," he said uncomfortably, hoping to be done with the subject.

"His explanations are the clearest," she said with what seemed to be a kind of admiration. "What an extraordinary place it must be. On the occasion of the army rebellion, the armed workers beat them down. Then they refused to turn the guns over to the government and established a revolutionary society and are preparing for the next step. Which would be the establishment of a true cla.s.sless society."

"G.o.d, what a nauseating prospect," said the count. "No, my dear, you'll see. The tension will mount between the Russian Communists and the libertarian, anti-Stalinist Anarchists and Socialists, and there'll be an explosion."

"In which case," Florry said, "we all obey Florry's First Rule of Revolution, which is: when the bombs go bang, find a deep hole."

They both laughed.

"You make it sound like a war, Mr. Florry. You have been reading your Julian Raines, too. He's very pessimistic about the Popular Front. He feels that-"

"Yes, I know, Sylvia. I have have read all of Julian's pieces. He's awfully good, I admit it." read all of Julian's pieces. He's awfully good, I admit it."

"It's a surprise, actually. I loathe his poetry. I loathe 'Achilles, Fool,' the poem about his poor father on the wire. My father also died in the Great War, and I don't see it as a game at all."

"Julian inspires pa.s.sions," said Florry, looking out across the sea at the dark jut of land, profoundly aware that he himself did not.