Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Definitely,” the former priest affirmed. “In fact, I was astounded when I first heard he was working for Kolchak’s Stavka, given how the Admiral and his crew set about purging the Siberian Army of S-Rs and others on the left. Having fought for the People’s Army, Ivashov couldn’t possibly have escaped notice.”

“Maybe he renounced his S-R connection,” Ned suggested, for lack of a better idea.

“Then why would Dieterichs have put Ivashov into liaison with the S-Rs?” Timofey replied with narrowed eyes. “He must have believed Ivashov to remain in good standing with the party or he wouldn’t have sent him here.”

“So what is your purpose in telling me all this? Do you suspect Ivashov of some double game?”

“I have known Igor Ivanovich since we were boys and suspect him of nothing. But he has always been a very private sort of fellow. All I can say is that Guins and Ivashov hold the key to any deal that might be made with the S-Rs.”

While Ned very much wanted to believe that Ivashov could be trusted, the problem was that the staff captain continued to hold back information about his left-wing ties. Even more troubling, Ivashov was in close contact with Zhanna at a time when Ned was not.

* * *

Over the next two days, Ned set out to learn as much as he could about S-R activities along the Volga, the party’s leaders, French aid to the S-Rs, and any recent proposals for a ceasefire with the Bolsheviks. He spoke to the American consul at Samara, to the British, to Mark McCloud, to his Russian informants, and tasked the wireless team for any intercepted communications on these topics. Once he had collected all the information he could, he set out on horseback to Zhanna’s field headquarters, not far from Samara.

When he arrived at the encampment, he found Ivashov busy reviewing maps spread across a table in the Maid’s command tent.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Ivashov asked with a wary smile after exchanging greetings.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Ned replied, taking a seat next to Ivashov without being asked.

“If you must know, my superiors ordered me to stay away from both the British and the Americans.”

“But not the French?”

“If you know so much, why do you bother to ask?” Ivashov answered with narrowed eyes.

“Because we are friends, Igor Ivanovich. Friends help each other.”

Ivashov gave Ned a probing look and then turned his head toward the tent opening as if to make sure no one were lurking outside.

“Let us take a walk where we will not be overheard,” the Russian answered.

They emerged from the tent into the heat of the midday sun and made a beeline toward the shade of a willow tree that grew along a stream feeding into the Volga.

“Tell me about your connections with the S-R Party,” Ned began.

“Who told you I was connected with them?” Ivashov asked with an icy expression.

“It doesn’t matter what other people say about you, Igor Ivanovich, only what you tell me yourself,” Ned said.

“Before the revolution, I was a Constitutional Democrat,” Ivashov answered. “But I voted for the S-Rs in the 1917 election and attended party meetings. Most of the men in my People’s Army regiment were also S-Rs. They were honorable men, though perhaps naïve…”

“But, Igor Ivanovich, how did you manage to land a job in the Stavka with a background like yours, when S-Rs were being drummed out of office all across Siberia?” Ned questioned. “And now, why would Dieterichs appoint you as liaison to the S-Rs unless he had reason to believe they would welcome you?”

“You’re right that joining the Stavka was difficult,” Ivashov answered without hesitation. “Lebedev disliked me, and the men closest to him never trusted me because most came from rear units in Siberia, while I had joined the People’s Army. But I was born in Irkutsk and had a good war record against Germany. I think they needed experienced officers and assigned me to liaison work as a test.”

“Very well, I can accept that,” Ned told him. “But you ought not conceal things from me if we are to help each other. Is Zhanna here? Can we go to her now?”

“I’m sorry, but Zhanna is away for the day,” Ivashov replied, stiffening almost imperceptibly.

“That’s unfortunate,” Ned said, moving his dry tongue across his lips. “I also wanted to ask her about her own relations with the S-R’s. But perhaps you can tell me something about that.”

“Which S-Rs do you have in mind?” Ivashov asked, the trace of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “The local fighting cells, or the party’s exile leaders who arrived lately from Paris?”

“Both, if you will.”