Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Very well, then,” Ivashov answered, lowering his voice. “S-R fighters inside Sovdepia seek only to help the White Armies throw off the Bolshevik yoke,” Ivashov began. “They ask for arms and ammunition, but would fight on even without them. The ones who come from Paris promise the partisans money and arms in return for representing them inside the White government. In such a way, without facing bombs or bullets, Savinkov and Zhelezin aim to exploit the partisans’ sacrifices to advance their naked political ambitions.”

Ned acknowledged the answer with a curt nod.

“Tell me, have you heard anything about a ceasefire proposal being cooked up between the S-Rs and the French?” he continued.

Ivashov closed his eyes and made a grimace before sucking air noisily through his teeth.

“So that is what Guins has been up to,” he muttered. “The private meetings with Regnault and Janin. I should have known…”

“Does Zhanna know?”

“I think not,” Ivashov replied, looking away.

“Then listen to me, Igor Ivanovich. When Zhanna returns, I want you to give her all you have about any ceasefire talks, but tell no one else,” Ned insisted. “Can you do that?”

“I will, because you ask it,” Ivashov agreed, though not happily. “But you know Zhanna will take the matter straight to Kolchak…”

“All the more reason to tell her the moment she returns,” Ned told him. “It appears the Bolsheviks are eager to slow her advance and have settled on a plan. Their chosen instrument is the French government. Being jealous of British influence with the Admiral, the French would deal with the devil himself to gain an advantage over their British rivals.”

“Even if it drives a wedge between allies?”

“It would not surprise me a bit,” Ned went on. “Clemenceau has not forgotten how disappointed Wilson and Lloyd George were at the Bullitt Plan’s collapse. With Lenin’s backing, he intends to dangle before them something similar to Bullitt’s old two-Russia solution, with an immediate ceasefire, boundaries frozen in place, the blockade lifted, and Allied troops withdrawn. But—and here’s the added bait—a guarantee by both Reds and Whites to pay off Russia’s debts to the Allies, no matter who wins the war.”

“That’s preposterous!” Ivashov snorted. “Kolchak and Denikin would never agree to it.”

“But Savinkov would,” Ned suggested. “And even a temporary ceasefire would buy time for the S-Rs to gain strength while the Allies push Kolchak to negotiate.”

“A ceasefire is nothing more than a period of cheating between battles while both sides rearm,” Ivashov scoffed, rising from his seat. “I am appalled that Guins would stoop to even discuss such a plan.”

“Sadly, I fear that our friend Guins may have yielded to temptation,” Ned said with a scowl. “My government has information that large sums may have been deposited to a Paris bank account in his name. Whether the money comes from Savinkov or the Quai d’Orsay is irrelevant. We can expect Guins to do everything in his power to promote the French plan.”

Ivashov grunted in disgust.

“And you think America and Britain would agree to such a scheme, though it already failed once in Bullitt’s hands?”

“This time they might,” Ned proposed. “Our bankers and industrialists will likely support any deal that guarantees Russian debts and reopens trade. And Wilson and Lloyd George might view a cease-fire deal as offering welcome relief to voters grown tired of foreign wars. They could cast it as a humanitarian measure: why not get the starving Russians to stop fighting long enough to gather in the harvest? And there’s another factor. The Bullitt Plan failed in large part because the British agent Sidney Reilly leaked it to the London newspapers. This time, Reilly is fully on board with it.”

“How do you know that?” Ivashov snapped. “And who is this Reilly, and why should his opinion count for anything here in Russia?”

“You know Reilly under the name of Zhelezin,” Ned revealed.

Ivashov’s eyes opened wide and for several moments he said nothing. Then he threw his hands in the air.

“But Savinkov and Zhelezin hate the Bolsheviks as much as we do! They would never accept an agreement that would leave a Bolshevik regime entrenched in Moscow!” Yet now that the seeds of doubt had been planted, Ivashov bared his teeth as those seeds took root in his mind.

“Tell me, Igor Ivanovich, how well do you know Savinkov and Zhelezin?” Ned pressed. “Do you trust them?”

Ivashov’s eyes took on a distant look.

“Savinkov is an incurable gambler and opium addict who discarded all scruples long ago,” the Russian answered in a muted voice, looking at the ground. “He has a certain charm, but, by any standard, the man is absolutely unreliable. As for Zhelezin, I have no doubt that he is up to no good, given his corrupt methods. From what I have seen, the man’s heart serves solely as a pump and has no other function.”

At this, Ned grasped Ivashov’s arm and held it tight.