Shadow Pass by Sam Eastland

Author:Sam Eastland [Eastland, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-553-90809-1
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-02-13T16:00:00+00:00

“I CAN’T TALK NOW, PEKKALA,” GROWLED STALIN, AS HE STOOD up from his desk. “I’m on my way to the daily briefing. The Germans have moved into Czechoslovakia, just as I told you they would. It has begun, and we still don’t have the T-34.”

“Comrade Stalin, what I need to ask you is also important.”

Stalin pressed his hand against a panel in the wall and the trapdoor clicked open. “Well, come on, then!”

“In there?” asked Pekkala.

“Yes! In here. Hurry up!”

He followed Stalin into the secret passageway, his stomach knotting as he ducked into the shadows.

Once they were both inside, Stalin pulled a metal lever in the wall and the door swung silently shut.

A line of weak electric bulbs lit the way, trailing into the darkness.

As soon as the trapdoor shut, Stalin set off through the tunnel.

Pekkala had to struggle to keep up, painfully stooped so as not to bang his head on the wooden beams which crossed the ceiling.

Doors appeared out of the gloom, each with its own opening-and-closing lever. The rooms to which they led were marked in yellow paint. It smelled dusty in the passageway. Now and then, he heard the murmur of voices on the other side of the wall.

By now, he was fighting against panic. The low ceiling seemed to be collapsing in on him. He had to remind himself to breathe. Each time they came to a door, he had to struggle against the urge to open it and escape from this rat tunnel.

They came to an intersection.

Pekkala looked down the other passageways, the pearl necklace of bulbs illuminating dingy tunnels leading deep into the heart of the Kremlin.

Stalin swung to his right and immediately began to climb a flight of stairs. He paused halfway up to catch his breath.

Pekkala almost ran into him.

“Well, Pekkala,” Stalin wheezed, “are you going to ask me this question of yours or are you just keeping me company?”

“The White Guild is finished,” said Pekkala.

“That does not sound like a question.”

“Is it true? Has the White Guild been shut down?”

Standing above him on the stairs, Stalin loomed over Pekkala. “The operation has been terminated.”

“And its agents have been reassigned?”

“Officially, yes.”

“Officially? What do you mean?”

This time Stalin did not reply. He turned and continued up the stairs. Reaching the top, he set out along another passageway. The floor was lined with dark green carpet, the center of which had been worn down to the ridging underneath.

“Where are those agents?” asked Pekkala.

“Dead,” replied Stalin.

“What? All of them?” The sound of water gurgling in pipes rushed past Pekkala’s ears.

“Last month, over the course of a single night, the six agents were tracked down to their lodgings in various parts of the city. It was a professional job. Each one was executed with a shot to the back of the head.”

“Do you have any suspects?”

Stalin shook his head. “In his final report, one of those agents stated that he had been approached by some people wishing to join the Guild. One week later, the agents turned up dead.

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