A Man Without Breath

‘He said that had already been confiscated by the NKVD on a previous security check. It’s what the NKVD termed “open arrest”, since there’s very little you can do in Soviet Russia without an internal passport.’

‘That’s convenient. And the NKVD men? What papers did they have?’

‘The usual NKVD cloth-bound identity booklets. And in the driver’s case his licence, his Komsomol Party ID book, some transit coupons, and a certificate for carrying a gun.’

‘I hope you kept those documents,’ I said.

‘I’m afraid the originals were destroyed in a fire with a lot of other documents,’ said Voss. ‘I think one of the officers was called Krivyenko.’

‘Destroyed?’

‘Yes,’ said Voss. ‘Not long after we moved into our billet at Grushtshenki there was a mortar attack by partisans.’

‘I see. That was very convenient, too. For Dyakov.’

‘I expect I have photographs of those at the Abwehr offices in Smolensk,’ said Von Gersdorff. ‘It’s standard practice for the Abwehr to keep a photographic record of all captured NKVD documentation.’

‘Does Dyakov know that?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘No time like the present,’ I said. ‘Shall we take a look?’

On the drive to the army Kommandatura I had some more questions about Dyakov.

‘How did he come to meet the field marshal, for God’s sake?’ I asked.

Von Gersdorff cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid that’s my fault,’ he said. ‘You see I handled the interrogation. I questioned him to see what he could tell us about the NKVD. The trouble with that Commissar Order was that we never got any good intelligence, and to have one of their own prisoners was about the next best thing. He was actually very helpful. Or so it seemed at the time. During the course of this interview Dyakov and I got talking about what kind of game there is to hunt around here.’

‘Of course,’ I said lightly.

‘I was hoping for some deer, but Dyakov told me that all of the deer had been killed by local hunters for food the previous winter but that there were still plenty of wild boar about and if I was interested he could show me where all the best spots were and even organize a drive for us. I happened to mention this to Von Kluge, who as you know is a very keen hunter, and he got very excited at the prospect of shooting wild boar in Russia – at his estate in Prussia there are several drives like that a year. I hadn’t seen him quite so happy since we captured Smolensk. A boar hunt was duly organized, for several guns – the field marshal, the general, myself, Von Boeselager, Von Schlabrendorff and other senior officers – and I have to say it was very successful. I think we got three or four. The field marshal was delighted, and almost immediately he ordered another drive, which was equally successful. After that, he decided to make Dyakov his Putzer, since when there have been more shoots, although lately the wild boar seem to have disappeared – I think we shot them all, quite frankly – which is why the field marshal now goes after wolves, not to mention hare and rabbit and pheasant. Dyakov seems to know where all the good spots are. Voss is right; I think it’s much more likely the fellow was a local poacher.’

‘Not to mention a murderer,’ I said.

Von Gersdorff looked sheepish. ‘I could hardly have known something like that would happen. In many ways Dyakov is a very affable sort of chap. It’s just that since the field marshal took him under his wing he’s become a law unto himself and insufferably arrogant, as you witnessed for yourself the other night.’

‘Not to mention a murderer,’ I repeated.

‘Yes, yes, you’ve made your point.’

‘To you,’ I said. ‘But if it’s going to stick I’m going to need more than a damned stripper clip. So let’s hope we find something in the Abwehr files.’

The Abwehr office in the Smolensk Kommandatura overlooked a small garden that was planted with vegetables and faced onto the windows of the local German foreign ministry. Beyond that you could see the jagged crenellations on top of the eastern Kremlin. On the wall of the office was a map of the Smolensk Oblast and a larger one of Russia, with the front clearly marked in red and uncomfortably nearer than I had previously supposed. Kursk – which was where German armour was now grouped before the Red Army – was only five hundred kilometres to the south-west of us. If Russian tanks broke through our lines, they could reach Smolensk in just ten days.

A young duty officer with an accent so astonishingly upper-class that I almost laughed – where did they get these people? I wondered – was on the telephone and quickly concluded his conversation when we appeared in the door. He stood up and saluted smartly. Von Gersdorff, whose manners were normally impeccable, went straight to the filing cabinets without bothering to introduce us and started to hunt through the drawers.

‘What was that you were saying about the uprising in the Warsaw ghetto, Lieutenant Nass?’ he murmured.

‘The reports from Brigadier Stroop indicate that all resistance has ended, sir.’