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

in Russian, again in a kindly voice, and then looked to Botvinik to translate.

“The captain is holding a cocktail party tonight on the quarterdeck; he would like you to attend, Lieutenant Kelly.”

Kelly ignored Botvinik and spoke directly to Tzereskova. “Captain, thank you for your hospitality, I would be delighted to attend.”

Tzereskova either did not understand or pretended not to. Kelly suspected the latter and looked to Botvinik to translate. He did so, nodding. The meeting was clearly over, whether or not Vladeshenko and Botvinik wanted it to be, and Kelly was escorted back to his temporary quarters by the two marines stationed outside the wardroom door.

Kelly had tidied himself up as best he could, but it was difficult to look smart in naval fatigues. He said a cheery hello to his marine escorts as he left his quarters and made his way to the quarterdeck. The awning had been erected and a few lights were strung around the deck. They must be quite sure of their harbour defences to do something like this, thought Kelly. The two marine escorts peeled off and placed themselves strategically on the deck, one at the entrance to the forward passage and the other at the stern.

The party consisted mainly of officers from the destroyer, with perhaps a few from other ships, but Kelly was unable to tell. There were a small number of civilians also on the deck, presumably the elite comrades of Archangel.

On seeing Kelly, Captain Tzereskova left one of his guests and strode purposely over to him. Grasping him by the arm the captain walked him around the groups of guests. Kelly’s smattering of Russian convinced him that he was being introduced and he responded by smiling and shaking outstretched hands and repeating “Zdravstvujte!” whenever it appeared appropriate.

His reception was mixed. In the main he was greeted cordially, and his hand clasped firmly and shaken vigorously. A minority seemed diffident and almost afraid to appear friendly. Clearly, thought Kelly, there are two distinct factions on this vessel.

Botvinik appeared on the Captain’s elbow and asked something. Kelly recognised the word ‘translate’. Tzereskova smiled but waved him away, pointing to a young Second Lieutenant whom he gestured to join him. The young man introduced himself in perfect English to Kelly as Garethi Yashin. Tzereskova put an arm through each of theirs and manoeuvred the two men to a quieter part of the deck.

“Listen carefully to the Captain,” said Yashin quietly, “but look at me and respond to me. Do you understand?” He was smiling and gesturing.

“I understand.” Kelly entered into the role play by nodding his head and smiling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Botvinik and Vladeshenko hovering nearby, but with the general bustle of the party, not within earshot.

The captain had his back to Vladeshenko and Botvinik, looking out to sea. Kelly and Yashin were in profile and to anyone else, appeared to be having a conversation. However, it was Tzereskova who spoke. “Yes Dragan, I can speak and understand English. You were right in that deduction.” The captain was looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Kelly nodded in response as if to some small talk coming from Yashin.

“Are you a brave man, Dragan?” asked the captain.

“I believe so,” Kelly responded, then after a pause during which Tzereskova had not acknowledged his response, added, “Yes!”

“Good!” said Tzereskova. “You will need to be. This is not a good situation. Look to the stern, now look two metres forward of that on the port side, in fact to where that marine is stationed.”

“Yes,” answered Kelly mainly to Tzereskova but partly to some trivia being spoken by Yashin. “I have been very impressed with the contribution of the Soviet Forces on the Eastern Front.”

“In a moment,” said the captain, “we will stroll over to that area. Approximately two and a half metres under where the marine is posted, there is an opening into the next lower deck. A hawser is tied off there that extends to a bollard on the jetty. You will need to hurdle the rail then hope to God that you can grasp the rope, slide down it as quickly as possible and sprint to that frigate. May God help you if you are caught before you make it.”

For a moment Kelly was thunderstruck. He fought to regain his composure quickly. “What about the contribution of the marines in this venture?”

It was Yashin who answered. “They will play no part in this venture. It is an entirely naval exercise. Nor will others who are antagonistic to the glorious allied cause.”

“Are you ready, Dragan?” asked Tzereskova.

“Quite ready,” Kelly responded.

Without a further word, Tzereskova turned on his heel and started to walk slowly to the stern. Kelly and Yashin walked with him, still chatting. As they turned Kelly saw two groups of officers peel off from their current groups and form separate groups around Vladeshenko and Botvinik. It was clearly perfectly planned but looked entirely natural, part of the ‘circulating’ process normal at cocktail parties.

As they approached the stern, the captain appeared to notice something amiss with the marine sentry. As Yashin and Kelly moved to the side, the captain confronted the sentry, pointing to his white belt and highly polished boots. Tzereskova spoke angrily to the poor marine whose concrete mask had slipped to show apprehension, even fear. With a final cursory word, the sentry was dismissed and made his way dismally to his quarters below the quarterdeck to sort out his dress.

Without a further word, Tzereskova and Yashin strode away leaving Kelly on his own.

He seized the moment.

Placing both hands on the rail, he hurdled it and fell, twisting to face toward the ship as he did so, in the hope of seeing the hawser in the gloom. Instead, his leg struck the rope and nearly sent him spinning, but he lunged in the direction of the collision, felt the rope, and clamped his hands onto it.

The hawser gave little as it took