The Cotton Spies by Simon Glyndwr John
CHAPTER 62
When the two Britons arrived back at the hotel after Edrich’s artistic endeavours they found Anders waiting for them with a balding fair-haired man - the Danish Major Bohr, the Red Cross Representative for the Austrians POWs. After the four men had shaken hands the two Red Cross officers followed Edrich to his room where the four men could be alone. After Edrich had again searched the room for listening devices Major Bohr took a piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to Robbins.
Robbins read the paper carefully twice then with his eyes flicking between the paper and Edrich’s stare he said. ‘It seems that this is an order from the Bolshevik leaders Lenin and Trotsky that forbids any POW from joining the Bolsheviks. If any have already joined the Bolsheviks then they must be discharged forthwith.’ Robbins scanned the paper again. ‘This is dated June 30th.’ He turned to Bohr, ‘may I ask where you got this paper?’
Bohr smiled. ‘It appeared one day delivered by hand to the house where we are staying.’
Anders took up the conversation. ‘We doubt that the paper is authentic because we believe that it was written by Captain Beckelmann.’
‘Why do you believe it’s a forgery?’
‘The government here are ignoring this paper. If they believed it was from Lenin they would have actioned it immediately.’ Bohr took the paper back from Robbins. ‘Plasov claimed not to know about this letter when we asked him about it. From the look on his face I think he was lying. Anders and my theory is, that the Bolos know about this paper and they know that it doesn’t come from Moscow.’ The Swede stood as did Bohr. ‘I think it is best we do not stay too long. Our relationship is fraught enough with the government I don’t want to jeopardise that by spending too much time with you.’
‘We understand that Zwemmer is the senior Austrian officer who has joined the Bolos, what is he like? And who leads the Austrians not in the Bolshevik forces?’
‘Zwemmer is actually a German officer who was acting as liaison to the Austrian Army when he was captured. Zwemmer is secretive, elusive and we believe he pulls Sailer’s strings. The Bolos are such a nasty lot that we send or have sent the officers home first, so the POWs’ natural leaders are gone. Then no one leads the non-Bolshevik Austrians as a single group because there are so many different nationalities within the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Each nationality has their own spokesman. I speak only German and English so it is difficult for me to understand exactly what is happening when my POW charges speak everything from Czech, via Hungarian and Polish to Slovak. Now we must go we have stayed to long.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ Robbins said. After the four men shook hands the Scandinavians left and their footsteps down the hall indicated they were going fast.
Edrich stood by the window and watched the Scandinavians leave the hotel, he turned to Robbins. ‘Perhaps at our next meeting with Plasov we can tackle him on why they are ignoring their own government’s directive on the POWs not joining the Bolo army.’
Robbins pulled a face and took several seconds to reply. ‘It could be an interesting reply if we get one. What we must not do is get our Scandinavian friends into trouble. Plasov will suspect we have learnt about the directive from them. Let us think how we broach the subject to him if indeed we get the chance before we leave. In the meanwhile shall we go and see how Hutton got on in telling our chaps that they are going home?’
As Robbins and Edrich ascended the stairs to Hutton’s room an Asian was being escorted down the stairs by one of the British party’s Indian servants.
‘The man on the stairs was visiting you Hutton?’ Robbins asked as he sat down.
‘Yes, he claimed to be a physician from Kabul and that his name is Aziz-up-Din. He wanted our help so he could return to Afghanistan.’
‘Why? We have nothing to do with the Afghans.’ Edrich sounded suspicious.
‘That is what I told him, colonel. He said with Britain having control of Afghanistan’s Foreign Policy we had a responsibility to help him. I disabused him of that idea. Then he claimed that with so many bandits roaming the surrounding areas that he was sure that he would be robbed. I said that was a Tashkent Government issue not ours.’ Hutton stopped because of the sound of many boots could be heard approaching rapidly. The door burst open to admit the six policemen, one of whom Edrich recognised from their previous visit. Commands were screamed by a short roly-poly man sporting a leather cap and two policemen escorted Robbins and Edrich to their rooms. When the pair reached their rooms they found police already busy making a great mess in each.
For the next hour Edrich watched the policemen go through everything he had. His clothes were removed from his luggage and each article was searched, much to Edrich’s disgust, by dirty hands and fingernails. What angered him more was when one brute began to open his books, shake them to see if anything came out, that done he just dropped them to the ground. When the thug picked up a third book Edrich seized it from him. Edrich held it carefully before he fanned the pages so the thug and ‘leather cap’ could see there was nothing between the sheets before he placed the book gently on the bed. Edrich performed the same scene with the other three books he had brought with him; he loved his books. The thug then took great pleasure in roughly frisking Edrich; the man’s stench nearly made Edrich sick but somehow he held onto the contents of his stomach. Finally when the room was in complete disarray ‘leather cap’ snarled a command and the men clumped out of the room. What sounded like the same command was shouted out in the hall to be followed by the clatter on boots descending the stairs.
‘Did they take anything?’ Edrich asked both of his compatriots when they joined him in his room. Both men shook their heads.
‘When I looked out of the window the Afghan doctor was talking to some of the police,’ volunteered Hutton.
‘Agent provocateur?’ asked Robbins looking at the other two men.
‘You talked to him Hutton. What do you think?’
Hutton thought for a moment before speaking. ‘He seemed genuine but it just sounded like he was smuggling money out of the country. It seems odd we should be raided just after he left.’
‘You did not commit us to anything, Hutton?’ Robbins asked more abruptly than he intended.
‘Absolutely not Sir Walter.’
‘Compton told us that we would get more than one visit from these policemen and he was right.’ Edrich paused to let his anger subside then quietly, ’did you tell the rest of our party the news about returning to Kashgar?’
‘I did, and they seemed to accept the news cheerfully.’
‘Excellent at least they won’t have to be tidying our rooms continuously. I think I need to send a telegram to India informing them what is going on,’ Robbins said as he stood.
There was a knock at the door and Bedi entered with a note that he handed to Edrich. Edrich scanned the note quickly and smiled before dismissing the Indian saying there was no reply.
‘Gentlemen, it seems that the cinema has a good film called ‘The Prisoner of Zenda.’ Compton has seen it twice and recommends it. Perhaps after this unpleasantness that is what we should do.’
At breakfast the following day the British mission were in the midst of discussing how much they had all enjoyed the previous evening’s film when the hotel manager marched up to Edrich and handed him a note in a peremptory fashion. Edrich took it and stared at the man till the latter turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant.
‘He is very rude,’ said Robbins before asking Edrich as he was reading the note. ‘Is it important?’
Without a word Edrich finished his reading then handed the note to Robbins but before he could read it Edrich spoke to his companions.
‘It seems we have been summoned to see the head man here – Bogdanovich. Good God here is Compton.’
‘Good morning, Consul,’ Robbins, Hutton and Edrich said together.
‘Have you heard from Bogdanovich? He has summoned me to see him at 10.am.’
‘Yes we have. I
have just received word that the three of us are to attend at the same time as you. Any idea what it is about?’
‘No and whatever the reason is I don’t like it. I have only met the man twice. It seems that he likes to leave Foreign affairs in the hands of Plasov that way if anything goes wrong Bogdanovich can blame him.’
‘What’s he like Mr Compton?’ Hutton said sipping his tea.
‘Piotr Bogdanovich? When the Sarts tried to overthrow the Tashkent Soviet in December 1917 they killed the then Bolshevik leaders. Bogdanovich led the counter-revolution, which resulted in the massacre of thousands of Sarts, and then he became the local Bolshevik leader. He is a drunken, bad tempered Russian ex-railway worker who is barely literate and resents anyone whom he considers educated. He is a good decision-maker where murder is concerned, often performing the killing himself. For all other decisions he depends on Moscow to tell him exactly what to do. He is a near relative of the Police Chief Chevosky, not in the blood sense, but in character and unpleasantness.’
‘Well gentlemen let us see what the man has to say shall we. I suggest we meet in the hotel lobby in quarter of an hour. Mr Compton, will you have tea while we are getting ready.’
Edrich did not have to summon a waiter because as if by magic one appeared with a cup and then another with a samovar. Compton looked at Edrich with raised eyebrows.
When the two Britons arrived back at the hotel after Edrich’s artistic endeavours they found Anders waiting for them with a balding fair-haired man - the Danish Major Bohr, the Red Cross Representative for the Austrians POWs. After the four men had shaken hands the two Red Cross officers followed Edrich to his room where the four men could be alone. After Edrich had again searched the room for listening devices Major Bohr took a piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to Robbins.
Robbins read the paper carefully twice then with his eyes flicking between the paper and Edrich’s stare he said. ‘It seems that this is an order from the Bolshevik leaders Lenin and Trotsky that forbids any POW from joining the Bolsheviks. If any have already joined the Bolsheviks then they must be discharged forthwith.’ Robbins scanned the paper again. ‘This is dated June 30th.’ He turned to Bohr, ‘may I ask where you got this paper?’
Bohr smiled. ‘It appeared one day delivered by hand to the house where we are staying.’
Anders took up the conversation. ‘We doubt that the paper is authentic because we believe that it was written by Captain Beckelmann.’
‘Why do you believe it’s a forgery?’
‘The government here are ignoring this paper. If they believed it was from Lenin they would have actioned it immediately.’ Bohr took the paper back from Robbins. ‘Plasov claimed not to know about this letter when we asked him about it. From the look on his face I think he was lying. Anders and my theory is, that the Bolos know about this paper and they know that it doesn’t come from Moscow.’ The Swede stood as did Bohr. ‘I think it is best we do not stay too long. Our relationship is fraught enough with the government I don’t want to jeopardise that by spending too much time with you.’
‘We understand that Zwemmer is the senior Austrian officer who has joined the Bolos, what is he like? And who leads the Austrians not in the Bolshevik forces?’
‘Zwemmer is actually a German officer who was acting as liaison to the Austrian Army when he was captured. Zwemmer is secretive, elusive and we believe he pulls Sailer’s strings. The Bolos are such a nasty lot that we send or have sent the officers home first, so the POWs’ natural leaders are gone. Then no one leads the non-Bolshevik Austrians as a single group because there are so many different nationalities within the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Each nationality has their own spokesman. I speak only German and English so it is difficult for me to understand exactly what is happening when my POW charges speak everything from Czech, via Hungarian and Polish to Slovak. Now we must go we have stayed to long.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ Robbins said. After the four men shook hands the Scandinavians left and their footsteps down the hall indicated they were going fast.
Edrich stood by the window and watched the Scandinavians leave the hotel, he turned to Robbins. ‘Perhaps at our next meeting with Plasov we can tackle him on why they are ignoring their own government’s directive on the POWs not joining the Bolo army.’
Robbins pulled a face and took several seconds to reply. ‘It could be an interesting reply if we get one. What we must not do is get our Scandinavian friends into trouble. Plasov will suspect we have learnt about the directive from them. Let us think how we broach the subject to him if indeed we get the chance before we leave. In the meanwhile shall we go and see how Hutton got on in telling our chaps that they are going home?’
As Robbins and Edrich ascended the stairs to Hutton’s room an Asian was being escorted down the stairs by one of the British party’s Indian servants.
‘The man on the stairs was visiting you Hutton?’ Robbins asked as he sat down.
‘Yes, he claimed to be a physician from Kabul and that his name is Aziz-up-Din. He wanted our help so he could return to Afghanistan.’
‘Why? We have nothing to do with the Afghans.’ Edrich sounded suspicious.
‘That is what I told him, colonel. He said with Britain having control of Afghanistan’s Foreign Policy we had a responsibility to help him. I disabused him of that idea. Then he claimed that with so many bandits roaming the surrounding areas that he was sure that he would be robbed. I said that was a Tashkent Government issue not ours.’ Hutton stopped because of the sound of many boots could be heard approaching rapidly. The door burst open to admit the six policemen, one of whom Edrich recognised from their previous visit. Commands were screamed by a short roly-poly man sporting a leather cap and two policemen escorted Robbins and Edrich to their rooms. When the pair reached their rooms they found police already busy making a great mess in each.
For the next hour Edrich watched the policemen go through everything he had. His clothes were removed from his luggage and each article was searched, much to Edrich’s disgust, by dirty hands and fingernails. What angered him more was when one brute began to open his books, shake them to see if anything came out, that done he just dropped them to the ground. When the thug picked up a third book Edrich seized it from him. Edrich held it carefully before he fanned the pages so the thug and ‘leather cap’ could see there was nothing between the sheets before he placed the book gently on the bed. Edrich performed the same scene with the other three books he had brought with him; he loved his books. The thug then took great pleasure in roughly frisking Edrich; the man’s stench nearly made Edrich sick but somehow he held onto the contents of his stomach. Finally when the room was in complete disarray ‘leather cap’ snarled a command and the men clumped out of the room. What sounded like the same command was shouted out in the hall to be followed by the clatter on boots descending the stairs.
‘Did they take anything?’ Edrich asked both of his compatriots when they joined him in his room. Both men shook their heads.
‘When I looked out of the window the Afghan doctor was talking to some of the police,’ volunteered Hutton.
‘Agent provocateur?’ asked Robbins looking at the other two men.
‘You talked to him Hutton. What do you think?’
Hutton thought for a moment before speaking. ‘He seemed genuine but it just sounded like he was smuggling money out of the country. It seems odd we should be raided just after he left.’
‘You did not commit us to anything, Hutton?’ Robbins asked more abruptly than he intended.
‘Absolutely not Sir Walter.’
‘Compton told us that we would get more than one visit from these policemen and he was right.’ Edrich paused to let his anger subside then quietly, ’did you tell the rest of our party the news about returning to Kashgar?’
‘I did, and they seemed to accept the news cheerfully.’
‘Excellent at least they won’t have to be tidying our rooms continuously. I think I need to send a telegram to India informing them what is going on,’ Robbins said as he stood.
There was a knock at the door and Bedi entered with a note that he handed to Edrich. Edrich scanned the note quickly and smiled before dismissing the Indian saying there was no reply.
‘Gentlemen, it seems that the cinema has a good film called ‘The Prisoner of Zenda.’ Compton has seen it twice and recommends it. Perhaps after this unpleasantness that is what we should do.’
At breakfast the following day the British mission were in the midst of discussing how much they had all enjoyed the previous evening’s film when the hotel manager marched up to Edrich and handed him a note in a peremptory fashion. Edrich took it and stared at the man till the latter turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant.
‘He is very rude,’ said Robbins before asking Edrich as he was reading the note. ‘Is it important?’
Without a word Edrich finished his reading then handed the note to Robbins but before he could read it Edrich spoke to his companions.
‘It seems we have been summoned to see the head man here – Bogdanovich. Good God here is Compton.’
‘Good morning, Consul,’ Robbins, Hutton and Edrich said together.
‘Have you heard from Bogdanovich? He has summoned me to see him at 10.am.’
‘Yes we have. I
‘No and whatever the reason is I don’t like it. I have only met the man twice. It seems that he likes to leave Foreign affairs in the hands of Plasov that way if anything goes wrong Bogdanovich can blame him.’
‘What’s he like Mr Compton?’ Hutton said sipping his tea.
‘Piotr Bogdanovich? When the Sarts tried to overthrow the Tashkent Soviet in December 1917 they killed the then Bolshevik leaders. Bogdanovich led the counter-revolution, which resulted in the massacre of thousands of Sarts, and then he became the local Bolshevik leader. He is a drunken, bad tempered Russian ex-railway worker who is barely literate and resents anyone whom he considers educated. He is a good decision-maker where murder is concerned, often performing the killing himself. For all other decisions he depends on Moscow to tell him exactly what to do. He is a near relative of the Police Chief Chevosky, not in the blood sense, but in character and unpleasantness.’
‘Well gentlemen let us see what the man has to say shall we. I suggest we meet in the hotel lobby in quarter of an hour. Mr Compton, will you have tea while we are getting ready.’
Edrich did not have to summon a waiter because as if by magic one appeared with a cup and then another with a samovar. Compton looked at Edrich with raised eyebrows.