Читать книгу Enemy of the Tzar: A Murderess in One Country, A Tycoon in Another - Lester S. Taube - Страница 12

CHAPTER 6

They ate supper in the long, formal dining room. Katrine had prepared a pheasant roasted with berries, with side dishes of various vegetables, and a bottle of champagne resting in a cooler. Hershel was delighted to see white asparagus in a prominent place.

“Where did you get these?” he asked.

“Teddy got them from Germany. You once mentioned how good they were, so I asked him to search them down.” She placed a number of them on his plate. “Why are they white?”

“The farmers cover the tips with soil the moment they come through the ground. Ergo, no sun, no green.”

When they had eaten, she served strawberries with thick cream, then demi tasses of coffee.

Sated, they leaned back to smoke the fierce Turkish cigarettes she favored.

“Hershel.” He looked at her with fondness. “What do you plan to do this time?”

Hershel wiped his mouth with a damask serviette. “I need one box of leaflets taken to Minsk, and two to Kiev.”

“That won’t be a bother.” She rose and refilled his cup with more coffee, then resumed her chair. She cocked her head at him. “I’ve been trying to figure you out ever since we met. Are you really a socialist?”

“All the way.”

“What do you really want? From Russia, I mean?”

“I want the vital services of the country, the railroads, postal system, banks, and all the important industries, such as mines, factories, and food distribution agencies owned and operated by a governmental organization responsive totally to the people.”

“The Tzar would never permit that, and you know it.”

“Then why do you help me?”

A half smile played on her lips. “I’m in love with you.”

He blew her a kiss. “The Tzar would spank you with a heavy hand if you were caught.” He knew it would be more than a heavy hand, irrespective of her noble rank and relationship to the Tzar himself. She was a first cousin, once removed, of his Exalted Majesty. But despotic rule is related only to power.

At first, Hershel was delighted with his conquest. It was nigh impossible to achieve his mission without help from the indigents, whether it was in Russia or Poland or Lithuania, and to have a confederate who could move about with the greatest of ease and meet with salutes from train conductors and customs officers and police instead of the usual surly, suspicious checks, was fortunate indeed. He had drawn her into his affairs without disconcert, but somewhere along the line he had awakened to realize he was truly in love with her. It was actually nothing new, for he had met other women under similar circumstances, had induced them to participate in his operation, had slept with them, fallen a bit in love with them, and when one in Poland had been caught and beaten so savagely that she had divulged his identity, he had understood, and his heart had ached for months over the pain and privation he had caused her. He had suffered a degree of pain himself, for while escaping the police, he had taken a bullet in his upper leg, and it had festered badly before he had managed to cross back into Germany and obtain proper treatment.

He loved Katrine deeply enough to marry her, but it would mean the end of his work if he did so, for both would be marked people from that moment on, since he would no longer be able to conceal his true identity.

Katrine had smiled at his remark about the Tzar spanking her with a heavy hand if she were caught. “Is it so important that all these services be controlled by the people? The Tzar does it well enough. And anyhow, the people are not competent enough to rule.”

Hershel chuckled. Loving her sometimes made him forget that she was essentially a despotic monarchist, and that he was enjoying her favors in spite of that fact. He was tempted to argue the point, but it would not be worth the effort, for if he convinced her that in Russia were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of untitled people capable of running the country for the benefit of the masses, not just for a privileged class, would he gain a more cooperative accomplice? Would it help one iota to explain that the Tzar himself owned about seventy percent of every meter of soil in Russia, and that the oppressive taxes went directly into his own coffers? Or that many of his court officers were exempt from taxes on their massive estates? And if he tried to convince her that the salutes she received because of her rank should also be extended to untitled women who excelled in medicine or writing or even, heaven forbid, politics, she would probably agree, but definitely not at the expense of her own position. His mission was to influence large numbers of people, not to expend his energy to convince the one.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” said Katrine. “There is a plan being developed to move all the Jews from Lithuania in the event of war with Germany.”

Hershel almost rose from his seat. “Where did you hear that?” he asked quietly.

“At an engagement party for a friend of mine in St. Petersburg three weeks ago. Old General Kokov was holding court. He is about ninety years old, can barely stand, yet his mind is as clear as a bell. Someone brought up the subject of the war with Turkey twenty-five years ago, then someone else spoke of Turkey’s growing friendship with Germany, and another person said that your Kaiser Wilhelm is so totally influenced by von Waldersee that a preemptive war against Russia is inevitable. Anyhow, General Kokov said that if war did break out, the first thing the army would do is move the Jews from Lithuania into Russia.”

“Did he say why?” Hershel made no attempt to conceal the interest he felt, and Katrine could see that her remarks were of great import.

“He said the Jews would certainly try to assist the Germans, and that they must be placed where they can do no harm. Anyhow, everyone knows that your strutting Kaiser will start a war sooner or later. All he has on his mind are uniforms and marching.”

Hershel sighed as he rose to refill their glasses with champagne. “You’re right, of course. He waves his saber too much, and one of these days he will accidentally stick someone who will fight back. But he has done wonders for the people on social issues. Look at us Jews for example. We own land, are permitted in all the professions, hold officer rank in the Imperial Army. I could go on and on.”

“Did you know that just this month he proposed a law to jail trade union activists?”

“Only if they endangered the security of the Empire.”

“Come on, Hershel. You know that’s just putting curtains on the windows. That law is designed to destroy you Social Democrats.”

Hershel resumed his seat, a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. “Katrine, I have misjudged you. I have been thinking that your main attributes are being the most beautiful woman and the finest bed partner on this earth. Now I see that you are much wiser than women are judged to be in your social and political position.”

“Why don’t you make up for it by giving me a poke right here on this table?”

He laughed with delight. “I suspect that the hard wood will ruin my knees. Can I settle for poking you twice in a comfortable bed?”

“You want to keep the conversation going, don’t you?”

He saluted her with his glass of champagne. “The devil with politics. Come on, off to bed, then.”

At mid morning, Hershel left Teddy’s flat, tipped the stableman to saddle his horse, then rode through the streets to a section near the Jewish shtetl. He had visited Kaunas four times during the past year to familiarize himself with the city, so he avoided crowds by taking short cuts through alleys. He looked about carefully as he traveled to see if he was being followed.

He passed a harness shop, employing a dozen or more leather workers, paid special attention to items hanging in the window, went on another block, then swung off his saddle and tied his horse to a hitching rail. Soon he was knocking on the rear door of the shop. Julijonas Grinius, a short, portly Lithuanian with a well-trimmed beard opened the door and led him into his office.

Julijonas smiled warmly as he proffered his hand. “Hello, Hershel. Welcome back.”

“Hello, Jonas. You look well.”

“I eat too much. All of it goes to the stomach.” He motioned Hershel to a chair and sat down. “A bit of vodka?”

“It’s too early in the day.”

“You look tired. Still poking the girls night and day?”

“I gave up the daytime girls for Lent.”

“For Lent!” Julijonas started roaring, his stomach quivering with his delight. “Why not for Passover?” he finally managed to get out.

“I did. But only for Jewish girls.”

Julijonas wiped his eyes, poured a large glass of vodka and gulped it down. “Hershel, you make the day almost worth living.” He wiped a few drops from his beard and licked them off his hand. “You’re late. Did you have any trouble?”

Hershel shrugged his shoulders, gesturing with his palms up. “Trains run late. Horses go lame.”

“There was an incident in Lodz four weeks ago. Seems the textile workers were trying to form a trade union. My cousin, Vincas, was visiting a friend, and says he saw a fellow exactly like you in a cafe talking with some of the organizers before the police began cracking skulls.”

“Vincas talks too much. His eyes are also bad. He should wear glasses.”

Julijonas grinned. “In the event that Vincas’ eyes were all right that afternoon, what were you doing in Poland? I thought you were warned to stay out of there.”

“Sometimes my ears are as bad as Vincas’ eyes.”

The portly man poured another drink, but sipped at it this time. “Stay out of Poland,” he said gently. “The police have a good description of you now. Anyhow, we need you with us. More than they do.”

“That’s what the textile people said. I couldn’t let them down.”

“Well, I know you will do what you want, not what makes sense, so I’ll drop the subject. What do you have in mind about moving the leaflets?”

“It has been arranged. Is Justas here?”

“Yes. He’s working on the docks.”

“In three days, have him take the three pieces of luggage to the railroad station. He is to place them next to the first class waiting room door at exactly one o’clock in the afternoon. Not one minute sooner or later. Then he is to leave. I don’t want him to see who picks them up. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I will make sure of it.”

Hershel gently pulled at the tip of his nose while he worked out the procedure. He would have Katrine arrive at the station a few minutes later, place her luggage next to those carrying the leaflets, then have the porter carry all together to her compartment when she started aboard. If challenged, she could always say it was the porter’s fault. As she rarely traveled with less than six or seven cases, even for a weekend, the situation could occur. Justas was a good man, and would follow orders to the letter, but Hershel always liked to hedge his bets. “Don’t tell Justas anything until he gets here–say, half an hour before leaving for the drop. Then pick a cafe ten minutes away from the station, and tell him to be there at exactly ten after one. Stand across the street to see if he arrives. I don’t want him to wait around for the pickup. I mean it–no waiting about.”

It did not deceive Julijonas, this wanting Justas promptly away. “Is your courier a woman?” he asked shrewdly.

Hershel shook his head with exasperation. “Not only are you too fat and drink too much vodka, but you are also too nosy. Would you rather that I lie to you?”

Julijonas did not take offense. Instead he chuckled. “Yes, lie to me. Is she a woman?”

“No, she is a man.”

“Is he beautiful?”

“He is beautiful.”

“Is he a good poke?”

“All couriers are good pokes.”

“Can I peek, just once?”

Hershel sat up straighter. One look at his face told the portly man that the banter was over. “If you peek,” Hershel said slowly, “I will kill you before the day is out, regardless of how close a friend you are.”

Julijonas sobered at once. “I’m sorry, Hershel. I went too far.”

Hershel’s face remained tightly drawn. “All right, Jonas. Just make certain you carry out the schedule to the minute.” He stood up, managed a wan smile, then held out his hand. “I will be back in six weeks.”

Julijonas scrambled to his feet, grasped Hershel’s hand, and nodded. “In six weeks. Go well, my friend.”