"On account of the typescript he got from Goering's safe?" said Erika.
"That's it," Angela agreed. "You know how immensely important he considered it was; so much so that he readily risked all our lives in an attempt to get it back to London. We should never have left our refuge in the forest until the spring if it hadn't been for that. Well, the fact that we were arrested hasn't made it less important. Gregory saw a chance to get out so he took it. He may have felt like hell at having to leave us in the lurch but the typescript was the thing that was uppermost in his mind. He's probably resigned himself by now to the fact that we're all as good as dead and is trying to console himself as well as he can with the knowledge that he couldn't have helped us if he had remained a prisoner, whereas, once he was free, it was his definite duty to try to get through with those vitally important papers."
Erika smiled. "I didn't say anything about it either, but I made up my mind long ago that having once escaped that is just what he would have done; and I don't think any of us can blame him."
"Not a bit," Freddie said quickly. "The only thing I don't understand is why lie should have given it away to the General that we're wanted by the Gestapo."
"You two are not," replied Erika quietly "at least, Freddie may be, for that affair in Helsinki, but even that is doubtful; and Angela certainly isn't."
"No," Angela admitted uneasily. "It's you and Gregory they are really after, darling."
"Yes; I realize that, and, of course. once we get to Moscow there is no one to whom I can appeal, whereas both of you can demand the protection of the British Ambassador."
Freddie laughed, a little uncertainly. "I've been keeping that up my sleeve, because I didn't want Angela to count on it. You know what these Bolshies are they may not allow us to appeal to anybody. I'm afraid all we can do for the moment is to stick together and hope for the best."
That conversation was the last which they were fated to hold on the subject of Gregory's escape and their own gloomy prospects but, afterwards. Erika was glad that they had had it. In the past six days, she had been gradually veering towards the opinion that Gregory would not return, and this talk fully confirmed her in it.
For some inexplicable reason he had given away to General Kuporovitch the fact that they were wanted by the Gestapo, so sooner or later she would be handed over to the Nazis and taken back to Berlin to be executed. They were well guarded in the castle and, even if they could have escaped, their inability to speak Russian and the climatic conditions would have made it utterly impossible for them to get away from the Arctic town. She had never shirked facing anything except poverty and dirt in her brilliant but hazardous career. Whatever hopes Freddie and Angela might pin on being allowed to communicate with their own Embassy when they reached Moscow it was better that she should no longer buoy herself up with day dreams of Gregory's accomplishing her rescue by some brilliant trick or great feat of daring; but make up her mind to endure, with as much dignity and courage as she could muster, the ignominy and death which were in store for her.
It was as well that she made this resolution on the Friday night, because in the middle of Saturday morning two guards came and beckoned to Freddie and Angela; but when Erika made to follow them the soldiers pushed her back and relocking the door left her alone in the cell. Half an hour later the furs and few belongings of the other two, which they had brought from the trapper's house, were collected. Afternoon drew into evening and as they did not come back Erika slowly began to realize that in all probability they had been separated from her for good.
No message was brought to her from them, so evidently they had not been allowed to communicate with her, and she had no means of asking the guards what had happened to them. When breakfast time came on Sunday morning and they still had not returned, she made up her mind that she must nerve herself to even greater courage, as she would now have to face future eventualities quite alone.
By Wednesday four days' solitary confinement had begun to tell upon her, as with nothing to occupy her the hours in the silent, gloomy fortress seemed to crawl by; but she knew that the period the General had mentioned was already up. At any time now instructions about her might be arriving from Moscow, and on the Thursday, just after she had eaten her midday meal she was sent for.
With the General, upstairs in his room, were the little ferret faced Political Commissar and two black uniformed S.S. men. Erika's footsteps faltered as she saw them. She had expected at least the further respite of the journey to Moscow and, although she had tried very hard to put it away from her, there had lingered in her mind the small but persistent hope that even if Gregory could not get her out of the castle he might Be planning some attempt to rescue her on her way south. Now, she felt, that hope, too, was shattered. She knew the methods of the Gestapo. They never wasted time or put themselves to unnecessary expense in eliminating their enemies. Evidently, as these two Nazis had come all the way to Kandalaksha, permission had been obtained from their Russian friends for them to execute her there; so her life could now be measured in hours or perhaps minutes.
One of the S.S. men, a big, fleshy, red faced young brute, stepped forward and looked at her curiously. "So you're the celebrated Erika von Epp? I've often heard of you."
It was pointless for her to deny it as he was holding her passport, which the General had given him, in his hand. Inclining her head she walked, with that regal carriage which Gregory loved so much, to a chair and calmly sat down.
The General, the Commissar and the S.S. men had a short discussion in Russian. The Germans signed some papers, the General bowed politely and said to her in French:
"The courage which you show in such a situation has all my admiration, Countess. I deeply regret that my duty prevents my being of any assistance to you, but I must hand you over to these gentlemen"; and, having thanked him courteously, she was led from the room.
Down in the main hall her furs were brought to her and she was taken out to a large sleigh in which the Gestapo men placed themselves on either side of her. The sleigh drove through the gates and down into the little square of the town, but the driver did not turn towards the railway station. Instead, he took the opposite direction and after a quarter of an hour, when they had passed beyond the last scattered buildings, it pulled up on a long, flat expanse of snow where a black German plane was waiting.
Erika sighed. When she had found that they did not mean to execute her at once her hopes had risen again, but if she was to be taken back direct to Berlin in a plane, that once more eliminated any lingering possibility that Gregory might succeed in rescuing her on the journey. But she admitted to herself that she had never really thought he would. That typescript he was carrying was of such immense importance. He had been gone twelve days now; with his wit and courage he had probably succeeded in getting out of Russia by this time and was no doubt in Sweden or Norway or, if he had succeeded in getting a plane, perhaps he had even reached London.
Owing to newly fallen snow they had great difficulty in getting off the ground but after three unsuccessful attempts the pilot made them all crowd themselves into the tail of the machine and managed to get into the air. It was 'Molotov weather' again, and as the plane roared southwards they could see the frozen lakes and vast forests spread below them. For the first two thirds of the tourney they were well to the east of the Finnish border but the country was very much the same as Eastern Finland.
As Erika watched the countless millions of trees sliding away below them she remembered how Gregory had said that unless the Allies and the Scandinavian countries came to Finland's assistance, making an advance into Russia possible and giving the Finns air superiority, the war must be over by the spring. All Finland's wealth lay in such endless forests, and newly planted trees took forty years to reach maturity. Once the snow which was protecting them through the long winter had melted, the Russians would be able to start huge forest fires by scattering incendiary bombs. The Finns might hold the Mannerheim Line but they would have to surrender if faced with the destruction of the entire potential wealth of their country for two generations to come.