Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Not exactly,” Holt explained. “Though you’ll report directly to Barrows, you’ll be working under cover with the Russian Railway Service Corps, which is due to arrive in Vladivostok later this month. Since the RRSC’s mandate extends across the entire length of the Trans-Siberian under White control, your work as an American railway man will take you wherever the U.S. government needs intelligence, from the Pacific to the Volga.”

Ned gave an anxious laugh.

“But I know nothing about railroads!”

“You will be put forward as a telegraph and wireless expert,” Holt explained. “Communications will be your specialty, not transport. You’ll receive several weeks of training on telegraph and wireless operations in Philadelphia and New York before you leave for San Francisco. And during the evenings, Army intelligence experts will instruct you in codes, ciphers, invisible writing and other secret communications methods, including the latest wireless devices.”

Ned numbly nodded his assent while his mind swam with apprehension at holding himself out as an expert in an area of which he knew next to nothing. Still, his heart thrilled at being sent to a distant and exotic land to provide intelligence support to Colonel Barrows and the new American Expeditionary Force.

“How soon can you travel to Philadelphia?” Holt demanded.

“I leave for Wilmington this afternoon, in fact,” Ned replied. “I plan to be in Philadelphia by tomorrow evening for a reception hosted by none other than Ed Buckner.”

“Splendid. Give him my best,” the colonel answered with a twisted smile. “But don’t breathe a word of our plans to Buckner or to anyone else. Tell everyone that I’ve turned down your request to fight the Germans and that you’re headed back to Manila Bay. Sulk for a while to make the story convincing. Meanwhile, we’ll prepare your orders and your commission in the RRSC. You’ll travel back to Manila under your original orders and pick up new ones at Army General Headquarters, Fort Santiago, thus bypassing the 27^th Regiment’s chain of command.”

“What about Philadelphia? How am I to get in touch with your people there?”

“Wire me your address when you arrive and I’ll send someone to fetch you. Any other questions?”

“Yes,” Ned answered after a moment’s pause. “What can I expect if my work in Russia is a success? Will it match what I could expect if I distinguished myself in France?”

“Frankly, Captain du Pont, the opportunity you’re being offered is a peach of an assignment for a young officer. What’s more, your prior intelligence experience and Russian language skill make you the perfect candidate. If Barrows is satisfied with your work, I expect you’ll have a very bright future in the Army. More than that I can’t say.”

Vague but acceptable, Ned thought, as he nodded his concurrence.

“But I would be less than honest with you if I didn’t warn you of the risks,” Holt went on unexpectedly. “In France, of course, you might be killed or wounded by shrapnel, bullets, or gas. And you’ve faced threats of another sort in Mindanao. But Russia will be entirely different. Though your orders are to avoid combat at all costs, you might well get caught up in the fighting. If you fall into Bolsheviks hands, a bullet in the neck may be the best you can hope for. And if the Whites catch you spying on them, the result could be the same.”

“How charming…” Ned noted, his heart chilled.

“And whether you find yourself among Americans, British, Czechs, or Russians, you will be utterly alone. Your mission will be to report intelligence that reflects the harsh realities in Russia, without regard to how your reporting may affect the fortunes of those around you. And, with rare exceptions, you won’t have the slightest idea whether your work is doing any good at all.”

Ned stiffened. All at once he felt as if the blood were clotting in his veins. For now his old unease was back again, except that this time he had exchanged an enemy he knew well for one that was entirely new and strange.

* * *

The next morning, Ned entered the lobby of the DuPont Building, a modern beaux-arts high-rise in downtown Wilmington, Delaware. There he took the elevator to the eleventh floor offices of Pierre Samuel du Pont, President of E.I. du Pont de Nemours & Company, the leading supplier of smokeless powder and explosives to the Allied Powers.

Though Ned’s father descended from a different branch of the du Pont family than Cousin Pierre, the two men were the same age, had known each other as young boys along the Brandywine River, and had both attended the William Penn Charter School in Philadelphia, a Quaker institution. But while Pierre, a shy and studious young man, went off to study chemistry at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Ned’s father received an appointment to enter the cadet class at West Point.