Treading water, he looked towards the tower.
The floods had come on again now and once again the whole area of water between tower and boom was brilliantly lit. A small boat had left the tower and was making for one of the boom-carrying constructions. Shaw watched it being pulled round the net, its armed crew peering into the water all around. Then he felt a series of alarming shocks through the water, followed by a number of dull thuds, and water churned up inside the boom. They were putting down small charges to drive men to the surface, but Shaw was well outside their effective range. He heard a loud yell then, and the men in the boat started to grapple something inboard. They must have found a body. Shaw hoped it would satisfy them.
He started swimming again.
It was very cold, worse than he had thought it would be; had it been a few weeks later this swim would have been impossible, he could not have lived in the water for more than a few minutes once winter’s rapid drop in sea-temperature had set in. Farther out he met the tide which, flooding strongly, carried him on towards the port. When he judged it safe he turned over on his back and floated and then when the current had carried him far enough, clear of the military area, he struck out again, turning across the current and making for the shore. He could tell from the beams of torches moving out from the direction of the camp that no chances were being taken, but they hadn’t got far along the foreshore yet and, choosing his time carefully and keeping submerged again and invisible until the very last moment, he was able to leave the water, unseen in the darkness, and then crawl slowly on his stomach up the beach, away ahead of the flashing torches and under the shelter of a big groyne. After that it wasn’t long before he was across the coast road and running along behind the beach, a bitter wind slicing into his wet clothes and his body and his teeth chattering madly, running fast into the barren, bush-dotted countryside that lay between the coast road and the road from Godov’s house where Triska would pick him up.
Behind him, the search was already tailing off and once again Shaw was grateful for that stupid burst of gunfire. In any case they would never think for one moment that an outsider could ever have got into the tunnel.
Meanwhile he was ahead of schedule. He had expected that he would have had to spend much longer inside the workings than had turned out to be the case. That meant a long, cold wait and he flattened himself into the beginnings of the marshy ground below the western verge of the road — and waited. Once during that wait a squadron of heavy tanks rumbled past but none of them stopped and nobody saw him.
Ninety minutes later, as he was trying to rub some warmth into his limbs, he saw the lights of a car coming along the road from Emets. The car was going slowly, as though the driver was keeping a look-out, and soon he was able to recognize Triska’s little car. Stepping into the road he waved her down and he heard her gasp of relief as she stopped and pushed the door open. He got in gratefully, out of the wind.
She said, “Oh, Peter, I didn’t say so, but I was sure I should never see you again!”
He grinned and said lightly, “As a matter of fact you nearly didn’t, but it takes more than a swim and a bit of trouble to kill me.”
“Yes, but…” She broke off. “Those clothes! Get into the back and change quickly. There is a towel there.”
“No sooner said than done, I assure you.” He was shivering violently now, barely able to keep still. He heaved himself over the seat-back and pulled off his wet clothing. Finding the towel he rubbed himself down until he began to feel a comfortable glow all over. Then he pulled on dry underwear and his grey suit. Smiling but anxious still, Triska turned round and handed him a flask of raw spirit, which he took two or three big gulps from and immediately felt a whole lot better.
He asked, “Godov gave you this?”
“Yes. And there is something else for you. When I told Godov you meant to swim for it, he said you might have to jettison your gun—”
“And he was dead right! It’s on the bottom somewhere off the tower. Don’t say you’ve got a replacement?”
“Yes, I have.” She brought out a beautifully kept Luger automatic and handed it to him with some spare ammunition. He examined it appreciatively.
“It’s a beauty, Triska,” he said. “Somehow I don’t associate Godov with guns, though.”
“Oh, it wasn’t his, he would never use a gun except a sporting gun, Peter. It is old Josef’s, Godov’s man, you know? He took it from a dead German outside Stalingrad — Volgagrad — and now he gives it to you with his blessing.”
“He’s the one who deserves the blessing,” Shaw said gruffly. “It’s going to be worth its weight in gold, believe me. We’ve a long, long way to go yet.”
“Have you found out much?”
“Little enough for certain,” he said. He told her what he had seen and added, “One of the N.C.O.’s said something about it all having to be completed by the day after tomorrow — that’s to say tomorrow now, which incidentally is when the British ships come in…”
“Do you seen any connexion, Peter?”
“Well no, frankly I don’t. But the very fact of a time limit being talked about means that tunnel’s no mere store — right? It’s what we’re after, I’m certain of that, though I still don’t know what they mean to do.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s go, Triska. I want to get a message off to the Embassy for London, and I’m not risking a transmission so near the military area. If anyone picked it up locally they’d smell a rat right away.”
“Where do you want to go, Peter? To the Professor’s house?”
He shook his head. “No, I think we’ll head back into Moltsk. I told you that MVD character warned me against seeing Godov again, and I don’t want to get too many questions asked about me. For similar reasons I’m not keen to roll up at the Nikolai at some freak hour. I’m going to ask you to put me up at your flat for what’s left of the night, Triska. I’m sorry, but… well, I’ve got to have an alibi in case I’m questioned.” He looked at her hard. “Do you see what I mean?”
She nodded, “Yes, I do.”
“And you… don’t mind?”
There was a funny look in her eyes as she said quietly, “Why, of course not. I shall be very pleased, Peter.” As she started up she said, “You are sure your Embassy will be able to pass on your message? Remember there will be heavy censorship, Peter.”
“I’m remembering. The answer is — no, I’m not sure at all. But they’re pretty good, you know. They don’t like it, but they rally round! They’ll find a way of slipping it through in some innocent-looking routine transmission under any circumstances short of a complete shut-down.”
“And then you’ll get more orders?”
He shrugged. “Depends. If I do, they’ll come direct from London at eleven p. m. Moscow time tonight.” He explained about the routine broadcast from London and added, “They’ve only contacted me once so far, though I’ve listened whenever possible. Once we’re in the field, you see, we’re forgotten men! All they want is our reports to them, and they do the rest… but what they’ll do this time is anybody’s guess. I’m glad I’m not in their shoes.”
She looked at him oddly as the car rushed along for Moltsk. She asked, “It does not worry you, that you are in your own shoes?”
He laughed. “Wouldn’t do much good if it did! Anyway, I’m used to it by now.”
As they neared the flat Shaw asked, “What about cousin Igor?”
“Oh, that’s all right. He’s on duty. I wonder you didn’t see him in the tower! He won’t be back till lunchtime.”