Dryden accepted the message back and rewound the cigarette butt as he spoke.
“On the wound, there were the marks of a patterned sole. He never fell off a ladder, Hany. His arm was stamped on, deliberately… and he’s no farm hand either. He was brought to us through choice… I could see it in his eyes. He’s Jewish, well kempt, clean and well-fed… as out of place here as a pork sausage in a synagogue… sorry, no offence.”
The Muslim officer smiled, used to such unintended slips.
“Then we must get his message out.”
“How… and to whom.”
Dryden laughed.
“The latter is easiest, as there is an address further on… you missed it, didn’t you.”
They paused as two NKVD guards strolled round in a relaxed fashion.
“The former is the hard part.”
Actually, it wasn’t.
They waited until they were alone before speaking.
“Sorry, my son. I’m so sorry.”
“It had to be done, father. Enough already.”
Passing a cup of cool water to his injured son, the senior man, owner of the foot that had broken the arm, sat down beside him.
“Well?”
“The Englishman appeared intelligent enough… he’s a doctor after all.”
The son’s face split with the broadest of grins, as did that of his father, Doctor Jakob Steyn.
“Thank you, Professor David. Praise indeed.”
“I’m sure he understood. Anyway, we’ve done what we can with the opportunity the fire presented. Let’s pray to Hashem for success.”
“Indeed.”
The two fell into silence and pleaded with their God for success, and, as always with Jakob Steyn, thanked the creator for the mercy he brought by reuniting him with the son he thought long dead.
The two Steyns were now part of the VNIIEF project and vitally important to its advance.
This they both knew, and worked as slowly as they could possibly do, aware that discovery of their low cooperation level would sentence the other to death, something that they were constantly reminded of when Soviet scientists needed work done, or experiments created.
German intelligence had prematurely promulgated news of each man’s death, in order to remove them from Allied thinking. It was an oft-used ploy. In this case, it also served the Soviets well, given that many German camp records had long since been destroyed.
Whilst there had been nothing but silence as they made their intonations, both men felt their prayers had been answered, and took to their bunks believing that Hashem would lend a helping hand.
Another Red Cross team arrived, unanticipated, unexpected, and inconvenient.
None the less, they were admitted to the camp, and saw the site of the fire, and the temporary morgue containing those who had perished.
They also visited the survivors, believing the living and the dead to be prisoners.
Conversation with Dryden and Hamouda, or any of the orderlies, was discouraged, and more than once an NKVD arm came between a Red Cross official and an inmate.
One low-level clerk was making notes for the inspector leading the mission and Dryden saw an opportunity.
Using only eye contact, he conveyed a message to Collins, who nodded his understanding.
The metal dish clattered to the floor and sent its contents flying.
Every eye was drawn, and none observed the glass phial being dropped into the open case.
Twenty minutes later, the inspection of the hospital over, the case and its precious contents were mobile to another two nearby POW camps, the first just outside of Verkhiny Baskunchak, and the second at the airfield from which they were due to fly home that very afternoon.
At precisely 1600, the Lockheed Constellation transport aircraft, sporting distinctive Red Cross markings, and guaranteed safe passage by all belligerents, took off from Akhtubinsk air base for the non-stop flight back to Geneva.
The Red Cross inspection team settled down for the nearly seven and a half hour journey to Switzerland.
Six and a half hours later, the aircraft drove into the highest peak in Austria.
There were no survivors.
“Come.”
The door to Nazarbayeva’s private rooms opened swiftly, and Poboshkin almost tumbled through the opening in his haste to inform his commander.
“Good morning, Comrade General. I hope you slept well?”
The words were said in such a way as to be different to the normal morning pleasantries.
“I did, thank you, Andrey, and from that, I assume that you hold something of great importance.”
Wearing only a crisp white shirt and loose trousers, Nazarbayeva looked every inch the Russian mother, albeit prettier than most.
“I certainly do, Comrade General.”
“One moment.”
She poured tea for them both and sat at her small private desk.
“Proceed, comrade.”
Poboshkin slid one of the folders in front of her.
“The staff have worked through the night and prepared this document.”
He sat down at Nazarbayeva’s invitation.
“We revisited every report, cross-referenced everything, and what you see is our best effort at predicting the present level of their forces.”
The front cover had announced that the folder contained the intelligence assessment of the DRH.
Nazarbayeva raised the cup to her lips but never made it the full distance, as the words and numbers she was reading washed through her eyes and penetrated her brain.
The cup made it back to the saucer and she flipped through the pages, took in the information and built a picture that all was not as it had seemed, and that their worst fears had been realised.
She skipped to the last page, where the report contained the customary summary sheet.
“Mudaks!”
Poboshkin, sipping his tea, could only nod in agreement.
“I have to ask, Andrey… the staff worked this all up on the basis of information we already had?”
Her inference was obvious.
“Yes, Comrade General, but with the different interpretations that our suspicions aroused. There was some fresh information, but most of this we already had… we’d just not interpreted it correctly… well… we had, but differently.”
She held out a conciliatory hand.
“The best was done at the time. Now is a different time and,” she closed the document and tapped her fingers on it, “We have done our best again.”
She rose and poured more tea, selecting an apple and a pear from the small display.
Tossing the apple to her aide, she sat back down.
“Help yourself when you’ve finished that one.”
She bit into the pear and savoured the fresh flesh and juices.
“You’re sure about these figures?”
Poboshkin gave a little shrug.
“As sure as I can be, Comrade General. I took presentations from the staff on their interpretations, and all seemed founded in logic and backed by a great deal of fact. I’ve signed off on the report, and believe it is our best estimate of the German field army.”
That it was twice previous estimates was the enormous stand-out point.
“Andrey, I’m struggling to understand how our estimates could have been so far out. What’s the factor here?”
Again he shrugged.
“We saw what we wanted to see… or possibly, what they wanted us to see. As ever, Comrade General, we’re restricted by our lack of reconnaissance, loss of agents across Europe, and their increasingly effective maskirovka.”