Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Good,” Ned answered, putting his hand to his chin and striking a pensive pose. “But tell me something: how did you and the staff captain come to know each other?”

“Our families have been close for many years,” Timofey answered in a monotone, his eyes lowered.

“Does anybody else know of your travel plans?”

“Except for a few close collaborators, I have told no one but you, captain,” the Russian insisted, looking up again with a sincere expression.

Though Ned found this claim unlikely, he resolved to determine if it were true, and to learn what Timofey expected to gain from approaching him.

“How long do you plan to stay on the Volga?” Ned went on.

“As long as work remains to be done,” Timofey answered, drinking the last of his tea. “I will look for you on my return. Provided, of course, that Siberia remains in friendly hands…”

Ned detected an ironic curl in the Russian’s upper lip and he, too, cracked a thin smile.

“And how do you propose to finance your new movement?” he asked in a languid voice. “Surely such an undertaking requires funding.”

“I have received contributions from private citizens,” Timofey said. “And I hope to collect more before I leave.”

“Might I be allowed to contribute?” Ned inquired gingerly, cocking his head while awaiting Timofey’s response.

It was a bit early in the game to offer money to a prospective informant, but since Timofey had sought him out discreetly and was leaving shortly for the Volga, Ned saw little risk in it. The worst that could happen, he supposed, was that the priest would be insulted and refuse ever to see him again. Or else take the money and run.

But instead of indignation or avarice, a thoughtful smile appeared in the priest’s deep blue eyes.

“A contribution would be most welcome,” he answered in a near whisper, “though it might be wise if nobody knew of it but us.”

“I will tell no one,” Ned responded, delighted at the priest’s willingness to enter into a clandestine relationship so quickly. “Let’s meet across the street at this time tomorrow and I will bring you as many dollars as I can pull together.”

And in return, all Ned would ask of Timofey would be a letter from time to time. The letters would be sent to an address on the Soviet side of the frontier, prepared in invisible ink, and would describe certain conditions in Sovdepia that were of abiding interest to the American government. An agent would collect the letters, hand them to a courier, and in another week they would reach Ned’s desk in Omsk.

* * *

The same afternoon, only a day after Zhanna’s visit to the White House, Governor-General Volkov sent Ivashov a messenger with an urgent summons to his office. The moment Ned and the staff captain arrived, Volkov began grilling them about Zhanna.

“That girl,” he growled. “She sticks like a burr, and there’s just no getting away from her! The matter comes down to this: do you believe the wench is telling the truth, or would I look like an utter fool if I sent her on to Omsk?”

“I believe she is sincere, Your Excellency,” Ivashov replied with a forthright nod. “I have no doubt that she hears voices and that she thinks they come from saints and angels. Beyond that, she has provided information more than once that could not have been obtained by earthly means. It’s really quite uncanny, sir. Putting appearances aside, I think it makes good sense to find out all that she has to offer. Why not send her on to Omsk and let them decide there?”

“And what makes you think that those in the capital know good sense when they see it?” Volkov complained, rising from his chair. “If they had any, they would promptly end this war and come to terms with the Bolsheviks, however distasteful it might be, while winter holds fighting to a standstill. The fact is that Lenin holds the richest parts of Russia. Everything west of the Urals is his: Moscow, Petrograd, the Volga, the Caucasus, and virtually all of Russia’s armories and munitions factories. Admiral Kolchak is wagering everything on increased Allied support, while our troops go without food, fuel, clothing and adequate weaponry to hold off the enemy. Come spring, when the war resumes in earnest, our side will be finished. Nothing can save us but a miracle.”

“Whether miracles exist or not,” Ivashov replied, “this is not a time to leave any stone unturned, Your Excellency. Besides, there is something rather special about the girl…”

“Oh, so now you think she can work miracles?”

“If I may be permitted to say it, sir, I consider Zhanna herself to be a kind of miracle,” Ivashov explained. “You have experienced for yourself how she works her spell on others to get her way. Why not turn it to our advantage? In any case, she may be the last card dealt to us. Better to play it than throw in our hand.”

“Will you stand by that opinion, staff captain?” Volkov demanded, returning to his seat.

“So much so that I would pay her expenses to Omsk and back out of my own pocket,” the young officer declared.