Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

The fat fool is growing quite boisterous, he thought. Just dangle the prospect of a grand parade with a speech at the end of it and he will do anything.

Turning his attention to the third man in the trio that sat opposite him, he asked Captain Steklov if he had any questions for him.

“Yes,” Steklov replied, “but if His Excellency and Dimitri Borisovich would allow me, I should prefer to discuss them with you in private. They involve operational matters and military security and so forth,” he explained apologetically to the two other men.

“Of course, of course,” Skyralenko and Pobednyev replied in chorus.

“In that case,” said Colonel Izorov, rising from his chair, “I shall not detain you gentlemen any longer. This is indeed an historic moment in the history of Berezovo and you have important work to do. I do not think that I exaggerate when I say that the safety not only of this town, but of Holy Russia herself lies in your hands. If we should fail, if one of these swine should somehow escape us, then I shudder to think of the consequences.”

The colonel’s face lengthened as he gave his final warning.

“My last word is this. I need not tell you of the dark forces that still threaten our country. Forces that have their agents everywhere, even here in Berezovo. If they should hear so much as a whisper of who is coming they will be bound to prepare a desperate plot to free them or, at the very least, to cause us the gravest embarrassment. So, we must be silent as the tomb until the day itself. I must ask you all to swear upon your honour not to breathe even a single word of this to anyone.”

In turn they shook the colonel’s hand. There was an awkward pause then, bracing himself, Pobednyev strode purposefully to the door. Pulling it open, he stepped to one side to allow Skyralenko to pass. When the prison director had gone, the Mayor saluted the two uniformed men clumsily and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Captain Steklov stood up and stretched lazily. “Idiots!” he sneered. “It will be all over town by lunchtime.”

“How can I help you, Captain?” asked Colonel Izorov coolly.

Captain Steklov felt himself flush with embarrassment at the snub. What a boor the policeman was! With studied calm, he walked to the door, turned and, leaning against it, folded his arms.

“Perhaps, Colonel,” he demanded, “you could begin by explaining how the hell a convoy escorted by a military guard comes under the jurisdiction of the police?”

Amused by the directness of this frontal assault, Colonel Izorov opened his desk drawer, reached in and produced a tin of cigarettes and a box of matches. Only when he had lit the cigarette and loosened his collar did he deign to answer.

“Perhaps, Captain,” he replied, mimicking Steklov’s clipped tones, “I can answer you best by asking you a question. How long have you known about this convoy? For instance, do you know its exact destination? Or the exact composition of its escort?”

“I only know what you have told me,” admitted Steklov.

“Then you have answered your own question, have you not?” replied the colonel with a laugh. “You do not know more because the highest organs of the state have wished it thus. To be frank, it is felt in Petersburg that the army can no longer be trusted in affairs of this kind.”

Colouring at the insult, Captain Steklov pushed himself away from the door and took a step towards the older man and then hesitated. Col. Izorov had been careful to leave the drawer of his desk open far enough for the young man to see the butt of his service revolver resting upon a pile of unused charge forms. Feigning not to notice the young man check himself and hesitate, the policeman flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the floor.

“Let me give you an example,” he continued smoothly. “Because of the persistence of our country’s enemies, our resources, that is those of the police and of the gendarmerie, are stretched to the limit. We can call upon the special reserve of course, but more often than not they are more trouble than they are worth. So, when the time came for these insurrectionists to be transferred from their holding cells to the train that was to transport them part of the way here, a military escort was considered advisable. But,” he added, pointing the burning tip of his cigarette at the captain, “even then, it was thought more prudent not to use troops from the local garrison who might have included sympathisers. Instead they had to draft in men from outside the capital. That is the way things stand in Petersburg, whether we like it or not.”

Despite his detestation of the policeman, Steklov did not doubt for one instant that what Izorov was saying was the truth.