Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

elaborate gesture and again Kelly noticed the slight nod and the earnest eyes.

“Thank you,” said Kelly. “I’m most grateful.” He returned the knowing nod. Dimitri seemed satisfied with this and left, closing the door firmly behind him. There was the unmistakable sound of a key turning. Kelly rose from the side of the bed where he was perched and walked over to the door. He tried the handle. The door was indeed locked. Peering through the small window he spied Dimitri walking towards the door.

“Is there something I can get you Comrade Lieutenant?” asked Dimitri in a flat level tone.

“I wondered why the door was locked,” responded Kelly.

“For security, Comrade Lieutenant.” Still the lifeless monotone in the voice, the unchanging countenance, no spark of recognition or friendliness. Clearly, Dimitri was being watched, thought Kelly.

“You are an honoured guest,” went on Dimitri. “We would not want anything to happen to you. I have been placed on guard to ensure that no one can harm you.”

That’s one way of looking at it, thought Kelly. Seems much more likely that I am, in effect, a prisoner here.

He kept his thoughts to himself and nodded at the guard in response. Dimitri neither smiled nor answered; instead, he sprang to attention and saluted. Then wheeled about and marched back to the seat he occupied in the bleak corridor.

Food was brought to Kelly at regular intervals. It was meagre fare, consisting in the main of a black stew with rough, dry bread, but not unpalatable. He also had use of a bucket in the corner of the cell for bodily functions. Kelly wondered how long he was to be incarcerated in this way and whether he should ask to see someone of higher rank, or perhaps someone from the British consulate, if indeed such a thing existed in Archangel.

There was no window in the cell, which was lit by a single electric lamp hanging from the ceiling, so Kelly had no concept of day and night. When he wanted to sleep, he at first tried to reach the electric lamp to unscrew the bulb, but it was out of reach. He pondered using the bucket to stand on, but the risk of an unpleasant accident deterred him. Trying to move the bed proved fruitless as it was bolted to the concrete floor.

Eventually, he ran out of options and simply lay down on the straw mattress, covering his head with the blanket to shut out the light. In this way he was able to capture a few moments of fitful sleep.

Kelly calculated, based on receiving three meals, having his bucket emptied once by the now uncommunicative Dimitri and by virtue of having slept, however badly, for a few minutes or hours—he wasn’t sure which—that the eternity he had spent in this foul-smelling hell hole had amounted in fact to only one day.

He tried to keep his spirits high by recalling good things from the past and picturing his friends. But this was a bad idea. His mind kept returning to the frigate and the friends he had lost in the explosion.

Just as Kelly was about to sink into despair, a key rattled in the door, which then swung open to reveal Major Vladeshenko.

“Why the hell are you still in this cell?” Vladeshenko’s voice was so hysterically over-the-top, it was pure theatre. “Dimitri! Did I not give an order to have Lieutenant Kelly moved to the destroyer, Ekaterina?”

“The order has not reached me, Comrade Major,” responded Dimitri in a defensive tone.

“Damn this bureaucracy, Dan.” Vladeshenko shrugged dramatically. “You never can rely on your orders being relayed.”

Kelly wondered about the charade, but his spirits were lifted by the thought of moving from his cell.

“How has Dimitri been treating you, Dan? Well, I hope?” inquired the Major.

Kelly thought for a second before answering. “He has been particularly unhelpful and unresponsive,” he said in a flat tone.

“Hmm, that is unfortunate. I must apologise Dan. We will speak later, Corporal.” Dimitri’s face had set in a grim expression.

As Vladeshenko turned to leave, Kelly exaggerated a wink to Dimitri. Immediately Dimitri’s face was illuminated. He understood. Kelly had deliberately deflected any hint of fraternisation.

“Come, Dan! I will get you away from this place and onto one of our glorious destroyers which are winning the battle of the oceans.”

News to me, thought Kelly, but he made no comment.

As he followed Vladeshenko out of the cell he made eye contact with Dimitri. In response the corporal stared intently at the retreating officer’s back and turned down his mouth. It was another clear warning.

A staff car waited outside the shabby little army command post, located just inside the perimeter wall of the naval harbour. To Kelly’s delight it was an old Humber. Somewhat the worse for wear and sporting an unattractive drab green paint job, nevertheless it was a little piece of England.

They climbed in and Kelly breathed in the smell of old leather. Vladeshenko tapped the driver on the shoulder. She glanced back as he issued directions in Russian, an unhappy looking woman, heavily built with a peasant face. She turned her sad face forward, pressed the starter button and the Humber’s engine purred into life.

As they moved off, Vladeshenko turned to Kelly, his face impassive, but the eyes probing. “You haven’t been quite truthful with me, Dragan. I am saddened by that.”

Kelly’s look of puzzlement was genuine; he had no idea what the Russian was referring to.

In response to Kelly’s look, the Russian continued, “You were involved with the British Secret Service were you not? An incident in Yugoslavia I believe?”

Kelly nearly choked on spontaneous laughter. “I was a teenager, recruited from my languages degree course at college to assist in a matter, purely because of my ability to speak a particular Serbian dialect fluently,” he explained.

He paused and gazed at the Russian, whose look encouraged Kelly to continue. “As I say, I developed a reputation for being able to speak all of the Yugoslavian languages and dialects and somehow, through one of my