3.1
As the final mooring was dropped into the sea SS Liverpool lurched forward and pulled away from the dock where she had been berthed for the last five days.
Count Peter Evdokimoff cursed in Russian. A pile of papers he had neatly stacked toppled over and cascaded across the cabin floor. He bent down and picked them up. Placing the sheets back in their correct order he put them on the bed. He looked around his cabin for another place to leave them but there was nowhere else. It was the biggest one they had on the ship but it was still small compared to his spacious office in Cape Town.
It was with mixed feelings that he had boarded the ship. Happy to return to Europe and his friends, sad to leave South Africa, this beautiful country that he had come to love. Sent two years before, he had been secretly investigating a group of Jewish businessmen that were linked to financing a group of anti-Russian European radicals. He had infiltrated the group posing as an investor for a new goldmine. He was a real Russian Count so his credentials were excellent and he had no trouble gaining their favour. With assistance from Androv Mikhailovich they had uncovered four Jewish dissident sympathisers all living in South Africa and finally a link had been established to a fifth active member. Recently promoted within the foreign branch of the Russian Secret Service, the Okhrana, Evdokimoff was now on his way to London to find him. He sat back down at the bureau desk in his cabin and continued writing. When the Russian courier arrived and handed him his orders to stand down and board the next ship to London he had only forty eight hours to prepare for the move. The promotion was unexpected, he was now the new head of the European office based in Paris. All he knew was that his predecessor, the former head of the Paris office had been compromised during an incident that he had provoked. He had left overnight and returned to Russia for his own safety. The Paris office was effectively leaderless until he arrived.
A distinguished military career had led to an offer to work for the newly formed Okhrana and a new lifestyle began. His work as an infiltration agent had been a distinguished one and promotions came quickly. His predecessor in Paris had been successful breaking up groups in France and the neighbouring countries but after six years had still failed to place anybody inside the Jewish dissident group in England. During his time in Europe Evdokimoff had discovered a connection between radical groups in London and South Africa. He returned to the head office in Moscow and explained his plan, convincing them that he had more chance of finding the link by befriending and infiltrating the group in South Africa instead of London. His logic was that they were half way around the world and the good life style they lived gave him more opportunities. So far away from the conflicts and lulled into a false sense of security they became easier targets. His commander agreed with his logic and cleared a budget and an agreed time scale to achieve results. The Count had succeeded in both. Africa was a lot more relaxed than Europe and the different nationalities became friends much more easily, enjoying many social events together. His specialty was arranging hunting parties. An excellent shot, his parties were regular and lavish, he entertained his guests with stories, regularly mentioning royal dignities as acquaintances. It was surprising how freely his guests became, sitting in the cool African night, after a great day of hunting and then too much alcohol and he had found out many interesting facts using this simple method.
He continued completing his paperwork undisturbed until the early evening when a steward knocked gently on his door.
‘Sir, the evening meal is ready, will you be participating?’ He replied that he would and placed all of his documents inside his briefcase locking it with a small key. He then placed the briefcase inside a sturdy travelling trunk and also locked that. Opening the wooden closet he chose his military evening dress jacket and studied himself in the full length mirror attached to the wall.
As Evdokimoff entered the dining room he acknowledged everyone politely in the room, making mental notes of each face as he did so. After two years in South Africa there was nobody of importance that he was not aware of. He had been invited to join the captain and glanced around to find him. An orderly tapped his arm gently and pointed towards his seat, the table separated from the rest of the dining area by a cordon of red rope with gold tassels. He sat down on the captain’s right hand side, looking around at the guests. Smiling at each person in turn he introduced himself, in no hurry to move to the next one. He was exceptionally charming, a master of deception, and unequalled at masking his emotions. An advantage he had used to rise quickly through the ranks of the elite Okhrana and become accepted in diplomatic circles. His admirers included the Tsar himself who had decorated him personally on several occasions. The dinner was formal and boring with a lot of small talk. Two British officers excused themselves to walk around outside and smoke. Evdokimoff noticed the captain looking at the orderly who had served them, he stared at him until he caught his eye and then blinked and looked away. At first Evdokimoff thought it was a secret signal for another drink, he thrived on finding weaknesses in people. The orderly waited a few seconds then approached the captain and leant forward as if to speak in his ear but said loudly enough for all to hear,
‘You are requested on the bridge, captain.’ The captain stood, excused himself and left. A well-rehearsed act to leave the company early, Evdokimoff smiled. Nobody else noticed or cared. The remaining passengers at the table, bored in their tiny bunks were in no hurry to leave the dining room. Evdokimoff looked across at Mikhailovich, his travelling associate and second in command who was sitting further back in the room.
The dining room was segregated into different classes of passengers. The serving times were staggered to relieve the pressure on the ships catering staff cramped in their small kitchen. Mikhailovich had just received his main course so Evdokimoff engaged in conversation with the two remaining guests sitting with him. He studied both of them, a fat one who had already had more than enough free glasses of port, stared back at him rudely. He decided the second one was a better choice.
‘Did you find India to your liking, Dr. Grant?’ He asked the well-dressed man who sat opposite, introduced to each other earlier by the captain.
‘No, I didn’t really like it, it was always too bloody hot, and Calcutta stank.’ Replied Grant. Evdokimoff laughed, he liked a man who spoke his mind, it was a luxury he could not afford in his chosen profession. ‘But to be honest my research would never have reached the level it has if I had not been there.’
‘Research?’ Asked the Russian, becoming more interested.
‘Yes my research into hypnosis and its place in surgery. It has been used successfully in place of an anaesthetic as a tool for surgery. I went to interview some of the remaining witnesses of a surgeon, Dr Esdaille, maybe you have heard of him?’
‘Sorry, I am afraid I haven’t. So you can put somebody to sleep, knock someone out using hypnotism?’
‘No that is impossible hypnosis can produce analgesia but never unconsciousness. Also not every patient is susceptible to it.’ Evdokimoff knew of the practice, the Okhrana had conducted tests some years before but not for surgery. His colleagues in Moscow had tried using it to extract information from prisoners, but it was ineffective and had been discarded.
‘I don’t want to be rude but it has been tried in Russia. My colleagues have told me it is impossible to turn somebody into a slave of your will. Hypnosis is a side show attraction.’ Grant always enjoyed a good debate.
‘Your colleagues did not have the trust of the patients,’ Grant stated simply.
That was true, thought Evdokimoff all of the subjects had been prisoners.
‘And as I told you it does not work on every patient, if they are afraid of you or do not trust you, you will never be able to hypnotise them, you may as well try it with a monkey. Could you fall asleep surrounded by hungry wolves, no it is impossible, the subject needs complete faith in you. In India the only ones Esdaille was successful with were the ones who wanted him to hypnotise them a
nd believed the operation would be painless. It is not easy to make a patient trust you, believe me there are many failures.’
‘Why don’t you administer drugs to them first, cocaine for example?’
‘Well it will assist them to relax but it will never replace their confidence in you. Their trust is stronger than any drug, also Esdaille used the technique some decades ago, before anaesthetic was so readily available, the alternative in most cases then was to put up with the pain. Can you believe that in his day the medical association in London advocated that pain was better than anaesthetic for the patient. They believed it aided a speedier recovery.’
Mikhailovich had joined them and stood behind Evdokimoff. The count stood and nodded courteously to the surgeon.
‘That was a very interesting conversation I hope we can discuss it further another time.’
‘Of course.’ Answered Grant ‘Good evening Sir.’
Although Androv Mikhailovich worked for him, he was also his closest friend and trusted bodyguard. They stepped out of the warm dining room and out onto the deck where the fresh breeze was a comforting change. Mikhailovich stopped briefly to light a slim cigar holding one hand over the end to stop the flame of the match blowing out. Flicking the match over the railing into the sea the stiff breeze hot ash blew into his goatee beard and he rubbed his left eye.
‘Smoking or spitting on a ship is always done with your back to the wind Androv,’ Evdokimoff laughed then continued. ‘We should look into this hypnotism for ourselves. It could be a useful tool.’
‘I still prefer the old way.’ Replied Mikhailovich referring to the various methods of torture he had been taught. Evdokimoff had been informed that Mikhailovich was both a homosexual and a sadist when he first joined the service. It was his modus operandi, to gain trust with other likeminded individuals. He had overheard a drunken general who had seen the results of his work refer to him as the ‘sadistic sodomite’. But Evdokimoff trusted him and could count on him when he needed to. They agreed to disagree and Evdokimoff said goodnight and left him alone to smoke a second cigar.
3.2
For the next several days Evdokimoff did not to eat in the dining room, feigning illness. He took his meals in his cabin, sometimes joined by Mikhailovich but mostly alone. A light tap at the door interrupted his report writing. He never called out for the orderlies to enter his room until all his documents were safely out of view, nor leave them alone each day when they came to make the bed and clean the room, his training had been thorough. He automatically closed the folder obscuring his reports then stood to open the door. The orderly, who was used to waiting stood there, smiled politely and handed him a folded note.
‘From Surgeon Grant Sir, should I wait for a reply.’ He bowed his head courteously as the Russian declined the offer, thanked him and closed the door. He sat back on the bed and read the handwritten note.
“My Dear Count Evdokimoff, the pleasure of your company has been missed and I hope you are feeling better. Today it has been brought to my attention that one of the passengers has been in a fight below decks and has sustained some very serious injuries. Due to an outbreak of some kind of virus the ship’s doctor has been run off his feet and I offered my services to go and look at the injured fellow. Unfortunately he is rambling in an unknown tongue so I cannot ascertain his condition with the limited facilities aboard. I am not a linguist but I believe the chap is speaking your language. Could I trouble you for one of your staff to join me for an hour to interpret what he says?”
Evdokimoff put the note down and thought for several minutes. Mikhailovich had checked the passengers list as a standard precaution before he had boarded and had found no Russians on it. He put the reports away and went through his usual habit of locking them away. Bored with reports anyway he dressed and left the cabin, locking the door and checking the handle twice. He walked to the next cabin and tapped on the door calling his name out quietly. Mikhailovich opened it and stood back to let him in. He passed him the note and waited silently for him to read it.
‘There were no Russians listed on this trip,’ Mikhailovich answered briefly. ‘He must be wrong.’
‘Possibly but nevertheless Androv, grab your boots and let’s go and find out more, it has got my interest aroused now.’ Mikhailovich pulled his boots on and they made their way to the ships sick bay. Grant was still there and as Evdokimoff greeted him Mikhailovich stepped up to the injured man and stared at his face. The orderly passed his boarding card to him without speaking. Mikhailovich read it out loud
‘Name George Tyler, Nationality English, Place of Birth Newcastle, England, Ticket Durban to London.’ he poked the man in the ribs hard and asked him in English
‘What is your name?’ The reply was a mixture of Turkish, Russian and English profanities.
‘Well he can swear in many languages,’ Evdokimoff said to Grant. ‘But if he is English I am a Chinaman.’
‘He must have stolen the ticket.’ Said Mikhailovich angry that this man had shown up a mistake he had made. He handed the boarding pass back to the medical orderly who explained to him.
‘Actually Sir, it is quite common, on the last trip a passenger lost his ticket in a game of cards the night before he boarded, a complete stranger took his place and we were nearly home before it was discovered.’
‘Yes maybe but he is not Russian.’ Said Mikhailovich, he turned to leave. ‘Are you coming Sir?’
‘You go Androv I will join you later.’
Evdokimoff stood talking with Grant for a while as the surgeon worked on the injured man.
‘What happened to him?’ He asked. The orderly replied,
‘Conflicting reports Sir but the most believable one is that he caught another passenger going through his belongings and they began fighting, the other passenger was considerably bigger and over powered him causing the multiple stab wounds he received. It must have been a very fierce fight Sir there was blood everywhere when we arrived.’
‘Where is the other passenger?’ Evdokimoff asked.
‘There Sir.’ the orderly pointed to a table in the corner of the room, a blood stained white sheet covered the body of a very large man.
‘He is dead?’ Evdokimoff was genuinely shocked.
‘Yes Sir his throat cut through to the bone.’ He looked at the slightly built figure Grant was sewing up, incoherently rambling as he drifted between pain and a chloroform induced sleep.
‘He doesn’t look big enough.’ Evdokimoff whispered, almost in praise. Grant dropped the needle and scissors into a metal kidney shaped dish and washed his hands in a bowl next to the bed. Soaping his hands as only a surgeon can, he held them out as the orderly lifted a flower patterned jug and rinsed the blood off.
‘Join me for a smoke on the deck?’ He asked Evdokimoff as he dried his hands.
‘Yes of course.’ He replied. He turned to join the surgeon then stopped and lowered his head towards the bed, listening intently to the words the injured man was speaking. He lifted the man’s shirt gently and looked at the scars on his back, then lifted the cloth higher he stared at a scar on his left shoulder blade.
‘Everything alright?’ asked Grant, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Yes the last time I saw that many scars on someone he had been in a train crash. You look like you have seen a ghost old man, come on you need some air.’
Evdokimoff laughed falsely, maybe he just had.
Evdokimoff and Grant walked around the deck several times smoking and discussing the injured man.
‘Sorry I felt a bit seasick earlier, I have not got a strong stomach.’ Evdokimoff lied and excused himself. He tapped on Mikhailovich’s cabin door and entered as soon as it opened. Evdokimoff helped himself to a Whiskey.
‘An Englishman who cannot speak English,’ he said. ‘Don’t you have any Cognac?’
‘That explains how he slipped through my checks.’ Mikhailovich replied defensively. He passed the Count a hand written note c
ontaining a detailed description of his facial appearance and approximate height. He also added a short report of the fight. Evdokimoff nodded. Mikhailovich had many years of experience in the Okhrana and could describe events and descriptions days afterwards more accurately then anyone Evdokimoff had ever worked with.
‘There are some details to add.’ The count said handing him back the note.
‘I missed something?’ Mikhailovich sounded surprised. Evdokimoff was always happy to stay one step ahead of his subordinates.
‘You left too quickly, I heard him speak Circassian.’ He said coldly. He waited several seconds for the reprimand to take effect then continued. ‘After you left I heard him speak several words of it and he mentioned one name twice, a village in Circassia. I want know who he is, what he is doing on this ship and what his connection with that village is. Oh and by the way he has a Petak brand. Don’t get complacent my friend.’
‘I am sorry it will never happen again.’ Mikhailovich apologised, A Petak brand was slang for the initials carved into prisoners back, this man had been in a Russian high security prison and Mikhailovich had missed it. The two men sat planning for several hours, Evdokimoff outlining what he wanted and Mikhailovich listening silently. The Count was meticulous in everything he did in his life and Mikhailovich knew he would sit there all night if necessary until he was satisfied with everything.
‘Androv this is the perfect opportunity to try the hypnotism for ourselves.’
‘But Moscow tried before and failed.’ Mikhailovich objected.
‘Yes they did but they were doing it wrong. Grant explained to me that it was because they didn’t have the trust, even when they drugged them the fear was too deeply rooted inside for them to let themselves go.’
‘I don’t understand, what are you telling me?’
‘What I am telling you is that to extract information from our enemy by hypnosis he must believe that we are his friends.’
‘Oh.’ Said Mikhailovich, without really understanding how they could achieve that.
‘Don’t you see the endless possibilities Androv, if we master the art of extracting information from an enemy using hypnotism?’ The count was getting excited at the prospect of being the first person to succeed. ‘With several idle weeks ahead of us, the most acclaimed expert in the field of hypnosis as a new found companion and a perfect subject to test lying in the sick bay under arrest for murder.’ Mikhailovich was unimpressed, torture had worked for him.
‘Torture produces answers that you want to hear so that you stop the pain, and you have no real way to know if it is the truth. This could bring infiltration to a whole new level, it may produce information we had no previous knowledge of.’ Evdokimoff was adamant he was right and as he was the commanding officer he did not need anybody else to give him permission anyway. Finally they said goodnight and the Count left.
Mikhailovich fell onto his bed exhausted. When he was told he was to accompany Evdokimoff on the ship he was delighted, several weeks with nothing to do except stroll around a ship’s deck, sit and read a good book, breathing clean sea air and relaxing had appealed to him. Now he had to work again. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, he yawned once, said ‘Fuck it,’ and fell asleep.
3.3
The following morning Mikhailovich was the first to enter the dining room, walking in as soon as the door had opened, he ate breakfast alone. He guessed that the medical orderly would eat early and was waiting for him to arrive. He was slowly sipping his second coffee when he saw him rush in obviously late, throw some food onto a plate and hurriedly eat taking gulps of water to assist swallowing the food quickly. He glanced up wiping his mouth with a serviette and noticed Mikhailovich for the first time. He nodded and mouthed ‘Good morning.’ Mikhailovich raised his coffee cup in return. An elderly dining room orderly refilled his coffee cup mistaking the gesture as a request for a refill. Mikhailovich accepted.
‘The medic is in a hurry.’ He laughed, nodding in his direction.
‘Who? Oh that’s O’Brian? Probably up all night playing cards again,’ The orderly replied.
Mikhailovich smiled at him.
‘Really that is interesting, I like a game myself.’
He rose and walked across to the medic pulled a chair back and sat down.
‘The sea air helping you sleep too long, Mr O’Brian? Sorry I didn’t remember your first name.’ he smiled.
‘It’s John,’ O’Brian answered trying to recall when they were introduced. ‘And yes, the sea air does have that effect.’ the medic replied between mouthfuls, trying to smile and chew.
‘Sorry John. Please finish your breakfast, we were wondering how the injured man was we visited yesterday, we would like to assist, maybe I can join you when you go.’ Mikhailovich said pleasantly.
‘Of course, it will be nice to have some company to talk to,’ answered O’Brian.
Mikhailovich smiled again and sipped his third coffee slowly, timing to finish the last drop exactly at the same time as O’Brian laid his knife and fork onto the empty plate. They rose together and walked to the sick bay passing Evdokimoff who nodded to Mikhailovich as he entered the dining room. As was normal for the upper class passengers, most of the lower class passengers at the other end of the room had finished already but were sitting about bored until they were ushered out by orderlies who needed to clean the tables and prepare for the next sitting. He ate slowly waiting for Grant and even requested another kipper that he did not really want, picking at it until the surgeon entered the room and sat down to join him.
‘Good morning doctor how are you?’ He asked politely.
‘I’m famished,’ declared the surgeon to both the Russian and the orderly who was waiting to take his order. ‘Give me a bloody great whale, and an ostrich egg with toast.’ he smiled and winked, amused at his own humour.
‘Will that be a poached whale or smoked Sir?’ Replied the orderly, used to the joke the surgeon used every morning when a fellow passenger joined him for breakfast for the first time. The Russian laughed politely. They sat chatting about the weather, the roughness of the sea and other unimportant things. Evdokimoff casually mentioned the injured man, almost as an afterthought.
‘Oh by the way has the injured man regained consciousness and has his condition improved?’ He asked.
‘No the ship’s doctor recommended to keep him drugged for a while, and the captain approved it. There is no point locking him up as he needs constant medical attention but we don’t know how violent he may be. We decided to keep him subdued until we know more, it is safer for the staff and should speed up his recovery anyway.’
‘Prepare him fit for the English gallows?’
Grant looked up startled.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No I beg your pardon,’ Evdokimoff said softly. ‘it was not meant to be rude, the English are well known for their good treatment of prisoners up to the point they execute them. Is it also true you cannot execute a prisoner who is evil if he is insane?’
‘Yes it is true, but he cannot be both, the law is clear we can only hang a man who knows what he did was wrong. The insane cannot tell the difference or be held accountable for their actions.’
‘But how can you decide if the man you have downstairs is insane or not if you cannot speak the same language, he is obviously the person who killed the other man?’
‘Without doubt he killed him but did he murder him?’ Asked the surgeon, ‘Without a translator we cannot find out what happened.’ Evdokimoff had been waiting for this opportunity.
‘Well for the safety of your medical staff and for the poor man himself I would like to offer our services fully to discover the truth.’
Grant smiled and agreed, it was something to keep them occupied during the boring trip. They continued talking while Grant finished his breakfast and then Evdokimoff excused himself and returned to his cabin to wait for Mikhailovich.
‘Androv, get a message to Rachkowski to supply a translator to join us on the ship.’ Evdokimoff seemed excited as Mikhailovich entered his cabin. He began writing a note.
‘Who do you want use?’ Asked Mikhailovich.
Evdokimoff replied without looking up.
‘Get the Jew Gurin on board, he was with me in Circassia and I know he can speak their language fluently, I used him before.’ Mikhailovich took the note and went to the signals cabin.
‘When are we due into the next port?’ he asked the orderly.
‘In four days.’ he replied.
‘Please send this as quickly as possible,’ he handed the note to him. The orderly stood and walked over to a rack of cages. He opened one and removed a black pigeon. He deftly inserted the note into a bracelet attached to the pigeons leg and closed it with a pair of pin nosed pliers. Mikhailovich walked with him to the deck where he launched the pigeon into the air.
‘How long will it take it to reach home?’ Mikhailovich asked.
‘It will be home tonight as long as no hawks get it.’
‘Great’’ thought Mikhailovich, ‘Evdokimoff will be pissed off if a bloody hawk brings his plans to an abrupt halt.’ The medical orderly was completely at ease with Mikhailovich, they had even arranged a game of cards for the following evening. It was Mikhailovich’s job to stay with the orderly, ensure O’Brian kept the patient drugged and record any information got from him. The orderly had a good bedside manner and kept the man calm and stable.
3.4
Mikhailovich stood leaning against the rail as the ship was secured against the dock. He scanned the crowd and then breathed a sigh of relieve as he saw a thin figure standing alone with a small hand case waiting to board. Wearing a short beige jacket and matching Panama hat pulled slightly at an angle no Englishman would wear it at stood Gurin.
‘Throw your bags in your cabin and follow me,’ said Mikhailovich. As relieved as he was that Gurin was on board he disliked Jews and made no attempt to conceal the fact. They walked along two corridors then Mikhailovich stopped and knocked at a door, calling out his name. The door was opened by Evdokimoff who smiled as he waved them inside.
‘Hello Gurin, how are you?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘I am in good health thank you Excellency.’ Gurin replied and bowed his head as he stood to attention.
‘We are a bit more relaxed Alexi, no need for the formalities on board, in fact while we are on the ship call me Peter.’ he ushered him to the small table and motioned him to sit. Gurin glanced sideway at Mikhailovich and smirked. Mikhailovich glared back at him, then walked to the drink cabinet. They sat down and Mikhailovich poured Evdokimoff a large Cognac and without asking poured himself and Gurin Vodka. They spoke for several hours, drinking and planning.
‘Come on let’s get some dinner.’ Evdokimoff stood suddenly clapping his hands, he was happy. They entered the dining room deliberately late, knowing the captain would have already left and Grant would be there.
‘I see your entourage has grown by one.’ The doctor said pleasantly as the three men sat at the table with him.
‘Yes this is another member of my staff, Captain Alexi Gurin, he will be joining my staff in London.’ Explained the count picking up the menu.
‘You should try the fish Alexi, He said leaning sideways to Gurin. Then he continued explaining to Grant. ‘Before joining the diplomatic community Captain Gurin served under my command for many years.’
‘You must find the diplomatic corps a bit boring after military service, where did you serve?’ Asked Grant.
‘Many places Doctor…’ Gurin began to reply.
‘Many places as we all did,’ cut in Evdokimoff. ‘But most importantly he served in Circassia with me and he is an excellent linguist. He will be able to communicate with the prisoner and translate his side of the story.’
‘Oh that’s excellent, what a stroke of luck.’ Said the doctor.’ But please remember he is not my prisoner he is my patient.’
‘Of course he is.’
‘By the way, where is Circassia?’ asked Grant.
‘It is a very beautiful part of the Russian Empire. I have a castle there, actually.’ Said Evdokimoff, and proceeded to change the subject as the meals arrived.
The following morning Mikhailovich introduced Gurin to O’Brian at breakfast and then the three left together and walked to the sick bay.
‘Sorry gentlemen but we have had a bit of a late night, there was an accident loading at the last port and some of the crew got hurt. I have to check on their dressings. Are you alright on your own for an hour or two?’ O’Brian asked.
‘Of course we are,’ Mikhailovich replied as he placed his hand on the medics shoulder.’ We will have a talk with the patient. Could we borrow a white coat each to wear, it will make him feel more at ease?’
‘Of course not, that’s a good idea.’ O’Brian opened a closet, handed him two white medical jackets and left them alone. They walked over to Jaak’s bed and opened the screen, Gurin sat on the chair next to the bed and Mikhailovich closed the screens around them standing just outside.
‘Hello my friend, I am Dr Gurin. What is your name?’Jaak opened his eyes and looked at him. He was confused. The man wasn’t Circassian but he was speaking his own language.
‘Jaak.’ he replied quietly.
‘How are you feeling Jaak?’ Gurin asked looking concerned.
‘I want to throw up.’ Mikhailovich walked over to a large cabinet and returned with a small enamel bowl. He handed it to Gurin who placed next to Jaak’s head.
‘Thank you.’ Said Jaak.
Mikhailovich looked at Gurin and left the room.
Gurin untied Jaak’s left hand so he could hold the bowl, Jaak threw up twice into the bowl, the effects of the ether causing his nausea.
‘Jaak you are in serious trouble, the man you were fighting with is dead and only the two of you were in the room. I want to help you but I must understand what happened. You also came aboard using another man’s ticket. That man has been found murdered in Durban, where you boarded.’ Jaak laid his head back on the pillow and thought about the situation he was in, he needed more time to decide what to do. The door opened and Mikhailovich walked in. He stopped and stared at Jaak holding the bowl and strode quickly to the bed. He pulled the bowl from his hand and forced his wrist back, he retightened the restraint and then screamed at Gurin in Russian.
‘You fucking Jewish idiot,’ He picked up the bowl and threw it at his face striking him hard on the forehead. Gurin sat with his head bowed, the blood from a gash in his forehead and vomit running down his face. He didn’t try to stem the flow or speak. Mikhailovich walked several times across the room still screaming and then left the sick bay slamming the door behind him.
Gurin sat for several minutes more and then stood and walked across to the wash bowl where he washed his face, wet a small towel and cleaned the cut. He returned to the seat next to Jaak sponging the stain on his lapel. Holding the towel to his head he spoke in Russian, quietly but clear enough for Jaak to hear what he said.
‘Fucking Russians.’ Jaak spoke next.
‘You are a Russian Jew? But you can speak my language.’
‘No I am a Jew unlucky enough to be born in Russia? and that bastard is Mr Mikhailovich, from the Russian consulate. He was instructed to arrest you by the Captain. He was informed you are from a Russian province and therefore their responsibility.’
‘Circassia never will be part of Russia.’ Jaak hissed, hatred filled his voice. Gurin was shocked, the sudden transformation that came over Jaak was remarkable. His whole persona changed from agreeable to frightening in less than a second. When Gurin saw Jaak for the first time he found it difficult to grasp the concept of the slightly undernourished and harmless looking figure being capable of the crimes reported of him. That harmless image of Jaak shattered in a split second and Gurin saw something in his eyes that scared him. He would never underes
timate him again, he regained his composure and continued speaking.
‘That may be so Jaak but you pissed off the British in Durban for killing one of their soldiers. The Russians want to patch up relations with them by taking you off at the next British port and hand you over to be hanged. He instructed me to translate what you say for your defence in court. But he doesn’t care, he knows you are Circassian. I am only here for show because there is a Russian Count involved. He wants the British to hang you. He hates Circassians more than Jews. He just accused me of attempting to free you, he believes you are too dangerous. In fact he told me if he finds your hand free again he will happily string me up next to you.’ Jaak was shocked, he thought Gurin was part of the Russian team. He replied cautiously.
‘Me, dangerous? I don’t have the strength to lift my body off of the bed.’
‘Yes Jaak, you are very seriously ill. The doctor informed me that you need an operation to save your leg, I’m afraid they will have to amputate it if it is left too long. The next hospital is weeks away but luckily there is a surgeon on board. Jaak tell me what happened so I can help you?’Jaak looked at him for several seconds without speaking.
‘Look Jaak I am here to help you. Nobody on the whole damn ship understands a bloody word you say. I can explain your side of the story. Believe me Jaak they want to hang you and be done.’
‘It’s a long story.’ Jaak whispered.
‘I have nowhere else to go Jaak.’ Gurin replied settling himself back in the chair.
3.5
Gurin left Jaak a few hours later. Mikhailovich was waiting on the deck for him, smoking.
‘Sorry about your head,’ said Mikhailovich without conviction as he looked at the blue bruise that surrounded a thin cut on Gurin’s forehead.
‘I had no idea that bowl was so heavy.’ Gurin did not reply and walked to Evdokimoff’s cabin alone.
‘Come in Alexi,’ called out Evdokimoff when he heard the knock at his door. ‘How did it go. My god what happened to your head?’
‘Mikhailovich helped me convince Jaak that he doesn’t like Jews.’
‘Mm, that was good of him.’ The Count said thoughtfully.
‘Well he opened up and told me everything. It is some story.’ Said Gurin.
‘I have all night.’ smiled Evdokimoff, pleased that his plan had started so well. He placed a glass of Vodka next to Gurin and sat down with a Cognac.
‘I did as you suggested and started with some simple questions about his past and then moved on to the fight and how he got the ticket.’
‘Excellent you found out his name?’
‘His name is Jaak, he didn’t know his original family name, or even how old he is. But you were correct, he is originally from Circassia, he watched his parents killed by Russian troops in his home. He hates Russians with a passion. After he was orphaned he was taken to Turkey where he grew up. He arrived in South Africa about three months ago to join the Gold rush, but he never reached the Gold fields. He was injured at the Danish mission when the native Zulus attacked, he had stopped to buy provisions and got caught up in the fight.’
Evdokimoff butted in.
‘I heard about that, the Danish mission where a troop of British got annihilated, we received a report that they lost every man, how could he have survived?’ ‘Maybe the report was wrong, but he told me he was rescued by a Boer whose family nursed him back to health. He had just recovered and was with the daughter, on a trip to the town when they were ambushed by three British soldiers.’
‘What?’
‘He said they were dressed as British soldiers and he was knocked unconscious by one of them. When he came around the only thing he could see was the uniform and he thought he was still being attacked so he killed one. The others overpowered him and took him to Durban jail.
‘And the girl, what became of her?’
‘She was murdered, possibly raped too, but it was only after he killed the soldier that he found out the girl was dead.’
‘Why didn’t they kill him too?’
‘I asked the same question and he doesn’t know. Maybe they thought they had killed him.’
‘Or they had to leave quickly when the real British troops arrived.’ The Count added.
‘He managed to escape from the jail the night before he was due to be transferred to the main prison.
‘How?’
‘He said the guard was drunk and left the door unlocked when he came into his cell.’
‘And he killed him?
‘He just said, “He overpowered him.” He was hiding in the immigrant’s tented area and purely by coincidence he spotted one of the men that killed the girl. He recognised him by a scar he had down his right cheek. He said it was unmistakable. He followed him to his tent and tried to talk to him.’
‘Talk? About what?’
‘He said he wanted him to go with him to the British and admit he killed the girl, but the man attacked him and Jaak killed him in self-defence. That’s when he found the ticket and decided to board the ship.’
‘Do you believe he tried to talk to the girl’s killer?’ asked Evdokimoff.
‘Not for one moment, he is lying but I can believe the rest of his story.’ Gurin stated.
‘And after all of that he gets into a fight with someone on the ship twice his size that is robbing him and kills him, incredible!’ Evdokimoff was truly impressed. Gurin waited courteously for the Count to finish speaking and then he continued.
‘He came into his berth and found the other man stealing his belongings. He cut the man’s ear and they started fighting.’
‘Petak style,’ murmured the Count. Cutting part of a man’s ear for stealing was typical punishment between inmates of a Russian prison. Gurin finished the story.
‘Then they had a fierce fight, they were both carrying knives and prepared to use them. They injured each other badly. Jaak was losing the fight and the bigger man was on top of him but he got his hand free and cut his throat. Jaak lost so much blood he was too weak to get the man off of him and that’s how they found them.’ Count Evdokimoff clapped his hands.
‘Alexi that is a fantastic start, tomorrow you can continue alone, I need Mikhailovich to help me with something else. You will be the prisoners, no sorry, “the patients” controller, It is imperative that he gains your trust so don’t ask him too much about himself for now. This man is going to be very valuable to us in London. Don’t push him too hard for information, keep working on the idea of him letting us hypnotise him for the operation. We need to discover if he is susceptible to hypnosis. But that is all for tonight, thank you now get some rest. Goodnight.’
Gurin left the Count, went directly back to his cabin and poured himself a large glass of Vodka. He sat on his bunk and thought about the day. It had been a good first day’s work apart from Mikhailovich cutting his head open and covering him with sick, but Evdokimoff was impressed with him and that was the person he needed to keep happy.
‘Fuck you Mikhailovich, I will pay you back for that,’ he thought angrily. He poured himself a second drink, tomorrow he would work on gaining Jaak’s trust. He had years of training in Europe as a controller and knew how to develop friendships. If Jaak was connected to the Jewish gang in London, as Evdokimoff suspected then he would discover it. For the next three days Gurin sat with Jaak gradually gaining his confidence. He reported each evening to Evdokimoff, noticing happily that Mikhailovich was not present any more.
‘He was in Petak,’ Gurin said sitting down opposite Evdokimoff, ‘from Eighteen Eighty until Eighty Two, but not as a criminal. He told me he fought for the Turks and was captured during the Siege of Gök Tepe. The other captured prisoners were sent elsewhere, he didn’t know, probably to a stalag in Siberia, he was the only one sent to Petak.’ Only prisoners sentenced to death were sent to Petak to await execution. Most died before their sentence was carried out.
‘Nobody has ever escaped from Petak, how did he get
out?’ asked the Count.
‘He didn’t escape he just walked out. There was a prisoner release during the Tsar’s last amnesty in Eighty Two.’
‘Yes, I know but the amnesty was only for Russians, no Turkish or Circassian prisoner would have been on that list.’ Evdokimoff said thoughtfully.
‘He wasn’t on the list but he was sharing a cell with another prisoner who was on it. Jaak strangled him and took his place. The smell in Petak was so foul that they didn’t find the body for weeks and by that time Jaak had already got out of Russia.’ Gurin stopped talking, the Count was rummaging through his briefcase and removed an old sheet of paper that contained a sketch of a man’s face. He studied it for several seconds then handed it to Gurin.
‘If he was in Petak then he must have been a war criminal. I had to search through all of my old papers to find this. It took me some time to find this but I was sure that I had seen the Circassian before. I never forget an enemy’s face. I have a bad habit of hoarding things. ‘Do you recognise this person?’ He asked, ‘look carefully at the eyes, nose and mouth. Gurin accepted a glass of Vodka from the Count as he looked carefully at the yellowing document. The sketch was of a young man with long wavy unkempt hair and a full beard. Gurin stared at it.
‘Jaak?’ Gurin asked looking up.
‘The man in this poster is the butcher of Kokand. He was the second in command to a Turkish Colonel named Mustafa Pamuk. This wanted poster was nailed in every city in the Emirate of Bukhara. He was notorious during the rebellion. It was said that he executed more than one hundred captured Russian prisoners during the war there. He was the most hated and sought after man of the Russian army. It was rumoured that Pamuk used him as a spy when he was only ten years old, he made him publicly behead his first victim when he was only thirteen years old.’
‘And you think this is the man we have in the sickbay?’
‘I need you to find out. But be careful if it is the same man then he is a psychopathic killer. I cannot believe we had the butcher in Petak prison and let him walk out, and for all those years we thought he was Turkish.’
Gurin left and climbed the stairs to the outside deck, he needed some air. He walked several times around the ship thinking. He had been in many dangerous situations in the past but for the first time in his life he was truly frightened. The following morning he gained his composure and visited Jaak, bringing him breakfast. He gave Jaak double the dose of his medication and waited thirty minutes before he loosened the restraints to allow him to eat. Gurin waited until Jaak fell asleep and then quietly and quickly refastened the strap and left him to sleep off the drugs. Now that he knew how dangerous Jaak was, that was the procedure he decided to follow. Gurin made sure Jaak was doped before he loosened him and asleep when he refastened. He was very wary of Jaak. Later each morning when Jaak had slept off the medication and was more coherent, Gurin sat and talked with him. That evening he reported to the Count with good news.
‘I think he is ready.’ he reported to Evdokimoff.
‘He will let us try the hypnosis on him then, well done how did you convince him?’
‘I stopped giving him painkillers for the last three days. I have been giving him vitamin tablets instead they are the same colour and I told him they needed to operate without anaesthetic. Now he is in so much pain and scared to lose his leg he has agreed.’
‘How did you convince him he cannot have an anaesthetic?’
‘I told him the doctor discovered he was allergic to it when he gave it to him the first time he was brought to the sick bay. I said it nearly killed him.’
‘Very clever,’ remarked Evdokimoff impressed. ‘Then it is time to move to the next phase.’
Gurin helped him put on his dinner jacket. ‘I will speak with the surgeon this evening, be ready to begin tomorrow Alexi.’
The Captain had given his permission for them to use the sick bay for the day without being disturbed unless an emergency arose. Gurin had been instructed to sit behind Jaak’s head, out of his sight and talk to him quietly in the dark for two hours then join the others for breakfast. The two windows of the sick bay had been covered with heavy blankets blocking out the morning sunshine. A small lamp had been positioned above Jaak’s head for him to concentrate on. Gurin left Jaak and met the others for breakfast.
‘How did it go?’ asked Grant.
‘There is one problem, he cannot look directly at the light,’ Said Gurin.
‘Really,’ Grant called the waiter over. ‘Find O’Brian and bring him here, Mr Gurin take O’Brian with you back to the patient. I will instruct him to put three drops of cocaine into each eye. That will relieve his eye strain. I suspect he has photophobia, I noticed the blue tinted glasses in his belongings earlier.’ He turned to Evdokimoff.
‘I have no idea how responsive to hypnosis this patient will be so it is important that my instructions are followed to the letter. Gurin carry on for two more hours after the drops are given I will join you then.’ Gurin nodded, he was a professional and didn’t like being told anything more than once, it was an insult to his intelligence. Grant arrived exactly on time and entered the dark room. He checked Jaak’s eyes, moving his eyelid and checking the pupil dilation.
‘Release his restraint.’ He told Gurin who did so.
Grant lifted Jaak’s arm and let it drop by his side. He whispered to Gurin
‘Well done, he is ready. Repeat everything I say slowly in his language.’
Grant manipulated Gurin slowly through the process, he made sure Gurin was the only voice that Jaak listened to and trusted. Grant took Jaak’s arm and lifted it above his body.
‘Tell him it has turned to stone and cannot be moved,’ he whispered. Gurin repeated it. Grant attempted to move his arm, but he could not.
‘Congratulations he is now your subject Mr Gurin.’
Evdokimoff standing at the back of the room watching wanted to applaud but instead silently balled his hand into a fist and punched the air. Nobody else in the room knew the significance of Jaak being under their control. Evdokimoff was preparing to make history. He was going to control the mind of a killer.
‘Please remove the lamp and the blankets and light the room again, we will operate on his leg shortly. Oh and Mr Gurin tell him to put his arm back down please.’
Two hours later, Jaak awoke and looked around the room. Several faces were looking at him, but he knew only one, Gurin.
‘How are you feeling Jaak?’ Gurin asked.
‘Very refreshed,’ replied Jaak.
‘Do you feel any pain in your leg?’
‘No, none.’ The faces all left the room and Jaak was alone again.
3.6
Gurin tapped on Evdokimoff’s door and called his name out. It was a simple method to convey that he was alone and it was safe to open the door. He had been well trained by the Okhrana many years previously. If he should ever be in a compromised situation and forced to knock on another operatives door to gain access he called out his name in a different way, if he ever called out “Count Evdokimoff, its Gurin.” anybody entering the room would probably be shot as soon as the door opened.
‘Please sit down Alexi. It is time I explained more about your role with the Circassian.’ Evdokimoff pointed to a leather chair situated by the porthole. He sat in the opposite chair and smiled at Gurin.
‘I’m sorry, I should have congratulated you before on your work in Paris, it was exceptional and you quite rightly deserved the high commendations you received from Moscow. What happened there?’
Gurin began the story.
‘I had managed to infiltrate a group of Jewish radicals in France and following instructions from my handler, I persuaded them to kill two Russian diplomats who were visiting Paris. I tipped off the French police and they were waiting for them as they attempted to carry out the killing. I led the complete French group into a trap, the Police caught all of them except me and one of the gang. My escape was faked and
the gang member with me was shot dead to make it seem even more realistic.’
‘Excellent work Alexi, well done,’ The Count was genuinely impressed with Gurin, it took a lot of courage to work undercover and a special type of man who could keep his nerve in a situation like that. He leaned forward and continued as Gurin sipped his drink.
‘Are you aware that it was Mikhailovich that was sent to continue after you left?’ Evdokimoff asked.
‘No I didn’t know he was involved.’ Gurin was surprised.
‘The French allowed Mikhailovich to question them before they were executed. It was all part of the deal your handler struck with the French.’ Gurin felt himself becoming angry.
‘So while I was still under cover, the French Police knew I was in the gang?’
‘Yes, it was the only way we could negotiate a deal with them.’
‘But if any of them were sympathetic to the Jews and informed the gang, I would have been tortured and killed.’
Evdokimoff chose his words carefully, Gurin had just discovered that the Okhrana had gambled with his life.
‘We would have pulled you out if there had been any danger.’ Gurin knew he was lying.
‘I need another drink.’ He pointed his glass at the Vodka bottle. Evdokimoff smiled and pushed his empty glass towards Gurin, who stood up and poured them both another drink. Evdokimoff accepted the refill and continued.
‘But the French Government showed strength and chose to execute all of them. They have now built a stronger trusting relationship with Russia.’ He raised his glass in a toast.
‘All because of you Alexi, you are one of Russia’s, and may I say mine, secret heroes. But don’t let Mikhailovich know I said that, he will get jealous.’
‘Thank you.’ He said as he raised his glass in his own toast. Gurin looked at the Count and thought.
‘He just told me they gambled with my life, and I am thanking him. That man could charm the knickers off a nun.’ Evdokimoff decided to continue.
‘And therein lies our problem, Alexi. The British Government is too pro Jewish. The relationship between England and Russia has always been rocky to say the least. The British Police would never, never work with us against the Jews, the way that the French did.’ He sat back and swallowed the remains of his Cognac.
‘Well that is until now Alexi. We are going to stir up so much Jewish resentment in London that the British public will force a complete rethink for the pro Jewish lobby in the Government.’
‘Why?’ asked Gurin. ‘What is so important about the British Radicals?’
‘They are the bankers,’ the Count answered simply. ‘Mikhailovich discovered the link when he interrogated the French gang you led into the trap.
‘Question them or torture them?’ Gurin knew the answer.
‘Let us say that he has his methods, but he discovered that the anti-Russian radicals in France had been funded by a Jewish businessman in London. He owns shares in a Gold mine in South Africa.’
‘So that’s why you were there.’
‘Yes, exactly. We uncovered most of the members living there, but the main one lives in London.’
‘So you know who he is.’ Gurin asked.
‘No, but we there are three possible shareholders that fit the profile and could be the banker and there is a go between who we know only by codename, “Gur Lavi”.’
‘Why not just kill all three?’
‘That is one solution, Alexi, but we need to be one hundred per cent certain that we kill the right one.
‘Why?’
‘Because they are planning an assassination and if we get the wrong one we may not be able to prevent it.’
‘An assassination, on whom?’Evdokimoff lowered his voice.
‘They are plotting to assassinate the Tsar.’ Evdokimoff let the information sink in. He sat silently for several minutes. Then he spoke again.
‘Alexi, this mission is so important, that I have been given….extraordinary powers.’
Gurin didn’t understand. Evdokimoff opened his case and removed a folded sheet of paper.
‘This came directly from the Okhrana in Moscow.’ He said handing it to Gurin. Gurin opened it and read the contents, it was a list of names.
‘I have been given permission to sacrifice anyone on this list if I need to.’
‘Good God, we are going to kill our own people? These are all Russians.’ exclaimed Gurin.
‘Exactly, and each one has spoken publically against the Jews and is a potential target for an assassination. Since the last attempted assassination of the Tsar, the top priority for the Okhrana is the destruction of anti-Russian revolutionary activities and the uncovering of Jewish radicals.’ Evdokimoff stopped and then emphasised. ‘By any means!’
Gurin began to realise that this operation was going to be a lot bigger than anything he had been in before. He had heard about Evdokimoff. The Count had a reputation for being totally merciless, but to kill his own countrymen, he was in a league of his own. Evdokimoff knew what he had told Gurin had shocked him. He continued.
‘The Okhrana have managed to infiltrate agents into every European group, but, so far have we have failed to get one person into the British Jewish faction, they are too careful. Nobody is trusted until they have proven themselves, shown their true allegiance. Also now that the French group was infiltrated, they will be even more suspicious. Their intelligence is too good, every time we try to get a man into their group they find out and kill him.’
‘Where are they getting their information?’ asked Gurin. Evdokimoff looked directly at Gurin.
‘To be honest Alexi, I don’t know. That’s why we need to be more ruthless than we have ever been before.’
3.7
Gurin was already on his third Vodka, his head span as he stood up but his mind was focused.
‘Who will do the killings, Mikhailovich?’
‘No. Mikhailovich’s role is to feed news to the British press.’
‘So it will be me then?
‘No, we will not be committing the killings, the Circassian will do it for us.’ Evdokimoff looked at Gurin as if he was waiting for a burst of applause.
‘We will get Jaak to kill a Russian diplomat in London to advertise him to the Jews as a contract killer?’Gurin was stunned, he thought for a moment, trying to work out his role and then asked.
‘How?’Ever the showman, the Count had been waiting for this question.
‘The only way the Jews will trust Jaak is seeing him kill a Russian in front of their own eyes. We will arrange the three possible suspects to witness Jaak in action. If one of them is the banker he will try to make contact and then we will know who he is.’ Evdokimoff sat back in his chair and interlocked his fingers, waiting for another question.
‘So the Jews will think he is an assassin working for the Circassians?’ the plan started to become clearer to Gurin.
‘Exactly, but the Circassian must never know, or even suspect that he is working for us. His hatred of Russians is his weakness. He believes you are Jewish and hate Russians too. I will arrange Putchin to join you in London, he has Jewish roots as well. You speak to Jaak in Circassian but only speak to Putchin in Hebrew in front of Jaak, he is clever and I am not sure what languages he can understand. Do not underestimate this man.’ Emphasised the Count.
Gurin was impressed, he had never worked directly for the Count, but some of his past plans had been so ingenious they were legendary within the ranks of the Okhrana. Now he was standing before the man listening to him in awe.
‘If I may be allowed to say, Count Evdokimoff, that is a ruthless but brilliant plan,’ acknowledged Gurin.
‘Yes I know.’ Evdokimoff smirked. He smiled briefly then continued.
‘As soon as any of the Jews try to instigate contact with the Circassian, Mikhailovich will monitor who it is and we will then decide our next move.’
‘So Jaak will just keep killi
ng until they come to us?’ Gurin asked.
‘Jaak is a rare commodity, once his hatred of Russians comes to the Jews attention, they will try to hire him as an assassin, it is a common practise for them. They have done this in other countries many times before, but this time we will know in advance whom to keep under observation.
‘But what if Jaak is caught?’ Gurin asked.
‘If Jaak is caught by the British there is nothing to connect him to Russia, he is a known enemy.’ Evdokimoff had thought it out very carefully.
Mikhailovich knocked and entered, he stood listening to Gurin’s concerns.
‘How do you know he will want to work for us? I have seen the look in his eyes, he is very dangerous and probably insane. I for one do not want to be in the same room as him when he has a knife.’
‘Androv has already thought of the solution.’ The Count gestured for him to explain. Mikhailovich, who had been leaning with one arm on a dresser, spoke for the first time.
‘Actually his possible insanity is our perfect solution. He will be transferred from the ship directly to a lunatic asylum on our arrival in London, there he will be kept under lock and key.’
‘A Lunatic Asylum?’ Gurin was shocked. Mikhailovich continued.
‘Actually it is called a Sanatorium, the Okhrana have used them as a hiding place to work from in several countries already. It is a perfect location. People come and go all the time. Rooms are isolated and patients can be totally restrained and drugged without anybody raising an eyebrow. Someone can scream all night and nobody calls the police.’ He smiled as he said it.
‘I will be responsible for eradicating all ships documents and arranging the paperwork for the asylum. You will be with him each day and from there we will control him with a mixture of drugs and hypnotism.’
‘But we can’t make him kill for us, even under hypnosis, Grant told us we can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to.’ Gurin said.
Mikhailovich replied.
‘You are correct Alexi, Dr Grant told us we cannot get Jaak to do anything he does not want to do. Your problem will not be to get him to kill, as long as they are, or he thinks they are, Russians, because that is what he likes to do, kill Russians. Your only problem may be to get him to stop!’ He smirked at Gurin. ‘By the way I have arranged for Jaak to be transferred from the sick bay to the cabin next to you so you can work with him without being disturbed.’
Gurin walked slowly back towards his cabin, then changed his mind and went out onto the deck. A mass murderer was sleeping in the room next to him with an adjoining door to separate them. He returned to the cabin and checked Jaak’s restraints twice before leaving him and getting into bed. That night he did not sleep well.
3.8
Mikael laid his spoon and plate down on the floor and stood up reaching for his Lee-Metford .303 rifle. Something wasn’t right, Joe was riding towards him very fast. He rode directly up to Mikael and without dismounting he said
‘It’s Emma, you need to come home now.’
Mikael and Joe rode at a breakneck pace all the way back to the farm. They pulled the horses up as they entered the yard and Mikael jumped off and ran to the kitchen. Joe dismounted and took both horses into the stable.
‘Tell me it’s a mistake,’ he shouted as he entered. Abraham sat holding Sarah who was trembling with emotion. She stood up and hugged Mikael, crying into his shoulder. He looked at Abraham who shook his head with tears in his eyes. Joe joined them and they all sat there stunned for a long time, nobody spoke. Eventually Abraham stood up and took Mikael by the arm. He guided him outside and they walked together to the edge of the farm and sat on a tuft of grass.
‘We haven’t sat here for a long time.’ Abraham said quietly. Mikael nodded his head in agreement, it was a place they used to sit and talk for hours, when Mikael was a young boy asking a hundred questions about life and Abraham patiently answering him. Abraham knew he had questions now.
‘Did the stranger kill her?’ Mikael asked bluntly, ‘did I save the man who killed my sister? Should I have let him die?’
‘Mikael I can’t believe the man hurt her, they must be mistaken.’
‘Joe told me they said he also murdered a soldier, the guard in Durban and is linked with an immigrant slaying at the tented area, I don’t understand.’ Abraham thought for a few seconds before answering him.
‘He showed nothing but affection and thanks toward both her and your mother. I don’t believe the story the Army gave us. I mean I don’t believe he hurt Emma.’
Abraham decided it wasn’t the right time to tell Mikael his thoughts about the man being his brother. It was hard enough for Mikael to accept the news about Emma. He decided to wait for a more convenient time, now Mikael needed time to grieve.
The following morning Emma’s body arrived and preparations were made for the funeral. Joe organised some of the workers to dig a grave in the small garden that Abraham had prepared for himself and Sarah. That evening a meal was prepared for the family and some of the neighbours who had arrived to pay their last respects. Mikael met them outside and greeted them all warmly. Abraham hugged each one for a long time. The last to arrive was his school friend Jon.
‘I am sorry I am late but it was a long ride.’ Jon explained as he dismounted the horse. Mikael shook his hand and they hugged, Jon tapped him gently on the back like a small child.
‘After the funeral I am leaving for Durban, I want to speak to this captain myself.’ Mikael whispered.
‘I will come with you.’ Jon replied. They joined the others and sat together each telling stories about Emma and the things she did as a girl, laughing about her adventures. The following morning they loaded her coffin onto a wagon and walked slowly together to the burial plot. It was a short service, prayers were said in English. Abraham began to sing in Hebrew. His voice shook with emotion as he struggled to get the words out. Only Sarah understood the meaning but he sang with such passion everyone cried.
After the funeral Sarah offered food and drink to everybody and she and Abraham thanked them as they left. She kissed Abraham on the forehead and went upstairs to lie down. He opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey and five glasses. Stepping outside he joined the three other men who stood waiting for him and they walked silently together to a field two hundred yards from the house. They stood before the wagon Emma had been killed in, the blood dried into the wood. Mikael and Joe both lit Kerosene soaked torches and set the wagon alight. Sitting down Abraham poured out the drinks and handed a glass to Mikael, Jon and Joe. He filled the last glass, stood and walked to the fire. He raised the glass into the air and said “Emma,” as he threw it into the flames on the burning wagon. They toasted Emma and got drunk.
Mikael and Jon rose early the morning following Emma’s funeral. The sun hung lazily over the paddock fence throwing a red glow across the farm yard. Mikael was in a bad mood, he slapped the horse as he pulled the saddle strap one notch tighter, the horse was clever and breathed out when he felt the strap being tightened, trying to keep it loose.
‘Not today boy I’m not in the mood for games.’ Mikael scolded him. He pulled the strap again and this time slipped the steel buckle in the hole.
‘Wait for me I am coming with you.’ Abraham called out as he entered the stable.
‘I don’t have time to wait for you and the wagon.’ Mikael spoke abruptly.
‘I’m not driving the wagon, I will travel by horseback with you.’ Abraham answered.
‘Make sure you can keep up old man.’
Jon sensed the friction between the two. He was shocked, in all the years he had known them he had never heard either raise their voice to the other. He spoke quietly.
‘Mikael let’s all get some breakfast before we leave. That way we can ride there directly without stopping.’
Mikael placed his hands on the horse and thought for several seconds.
‘You are right Jon, it’s a better ide
a.’ He turned and placed his arm over Abrahams shoulders, they all walked across the yard to the kitchen.
‘Sorry, I have a headache.’ Said Mikael to Abraham. He then turned to Jon.
‘Just make sure you don’t eat too much or you will have to shit in your saddle, we don’t stop until we reach Durban.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time, the British shooting at me had the same effect the last time I shit my saddle,’ He smiled. He and Mikael had fought together for the Boers years earlier.
They ate a large breakfast together, Joe’s wife cooked, Sarah stayed in bed. Abraham went to check on her. He opened the door silently.
‘I am awake Abraham.’ Sarah called out. Abraham sat on the bed beside her.
‘You are going with them?’ Sarah asked holding his hand.
‘I have to go. Mikael may encounter trouble in Durban, you know how hot headed he can get at times, especially now he is so angry.’
‘Have you told him about his brother?’ She asked him. Abraham was surprised.
‘You believe it too?’ She nodded.
‘The more I watched him the more similarities with Mikael I saw. But I don’t want you to tell him.’
‘What do you mean?’ Abraham wanted to know.
‘He may be the twin but he is bad luck. You saw the scars he carries on his body. He was at the mission when all the British got killed, he came here and destroyed our family. He is cursed with bad luck or…’
‘Or what?’
‘Or he is evil. Emma dreamt it Abraham. She saw it in her dreams.’
‘She saw what in her dreams?’ Mikael entered the bedroom hearing the last sentence Sarah spoke.
‘She saw her own death.’ Sarah wept as she spoke.
Mikael leant over her and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Mikael please be careful.’ She gripped his hand hard.
‘I will.’ He kissed her again and left Abraham in the bedroom. Abraham came back to the kitchen as the others finished their coffee. He looked at Mikael but said nothing.