Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“It seems that a British agent by the name of Sidney Reilly fed information to the press showing that the Bullitt proposal was a complete sellout of the Whites for the benefit of the bankers and industrialists,” McCloud replied with a smirk. “The next day, Lord Northcliffe’s Daily Mail blew Bullitt’s plan sky high.”

“And was Reilly’s information accurate?” Ned pressed.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” McCloud replied. “You see, Colonel House happened to be in London when the article appeared, and he met right away with the newspaper’s chief editor. As I heard it, the editor warned House that, if President Wilson recognized the Bolsheviks in exchange for financial and trade concessions, his lofty idealism would be fatally exposed as rank commercialism in disguise. As a result, his precious League of Nations would be stillborn and all the small peoples of Europe would come to view his Fourteen Points as a cruel hoax.”

“So diplomacy failed?”

“It certainly looks that way,” the journalist answered, swirling the vodka around the walls of his glass.

“How odd to hear an old muckraker like you line up on the side of Russian landowners and capitalists,” Ned observed with a wry smile. “Have you finally thrown in your lot with the Admiral? Is that why you’ve come back to Omsk? Or do you simply relish a good brawl and being paid to write about it?”

At this, the older man let out a snorting laugh and pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his mustachioed nose.

“The American left wing is dead wrong if they think that Lenin and his ilk are doing good for the common man,” McCloud pronounced. “I happen to agree with Churchill that Bolshevism ought to have been strangled in its cradle. Winston seems to be the only Allied politician who truly understands Lenin. And since President Wilson hasn’t yet come around to our point of view, I have taken it upon myself to persuade him.”

Ned took a swig of vodka and gave the journalist a quizzical look.

“And how on earth do you propose to do that?” he asked.

“I’m going to light a fire under him that he can’t ignore,” McCloud replied. “Listen, I’m a realist when it comes to men like Kolchak and Denikin. They’re like medieval popes badly in need of a Reformation. But reform will take time in Russia. In the meantime, I love the story of your charming young companion, Zhanna Dorokhina. And I think more Americans should get to know her. If Russia’s devastation is rooted in the sins of its past, then perhaps what it needs is a pure and unpolluted intercessor, a virgin who stands above all the corruption. Wouldn’t it be grand if Zhanna moved the Whites toward reform? Now, that’s a cause my readers could get behind.”

“So now you’ve become a believer in the Maid?” Ned challenged.

“I believe this much: Zhanna is as gifted a politician as I’ll ever meet,” McCloud replied. “I don’t know how far she’ll get with the Admiral, but she’s certainly got the Siberian public on her side. Just imagine what more she could do if she had the weight of the Allies behind her! The Whites might come around to mending their ways and become worthy of winning!”

“Is that why you spent so much time in Irkutsk coaching the banker Kostrov and his newspapers on how to make a celebrity of her?” Ned probed.

“Now, who could have told you a thing like that?” McCloud protested with feigned innocence.

“A man of the cloth who is not in the habit of lying,” Ned replied. “I think you may be acquainted with him.”

“Ah, Father Timofey,” McCloud conceded with a thoughtful frown. “Charming fellow, once you get past that fierce demeanor of his. And an astute observer.”

“Is it true then that Kostrov sold you the rights to publish Zhanna’s story in America? And that you struck a deal with Kostrov’s newsmen in Irkutsk to keep you informed about her?”

“How unfair of you to imply such a thing!” McCloud protested, though not believably.

“Unfair, perhaps, but is it true?” Ned pressed.

“Only to a minor extent.”

“Fine, then I won’t bother to ask you if you also cheated Kostrov or any of those newsmen at cards to win back whatever you paid them for Zhanna’s story,” Ned added, raising his glass. “I think I already know the answer.”

“And I won’t bother to ask you about the female company you’ve been keeping, my handsome young friend,” McCloud snapped before turning to summon the waiter for more vodka. “Because if I knew, it might put me in an awkward position back in Philadelphia. And I don’t think that would serve either of us.”

Ned blanched. While he had always assumed that McCloud was keeping an eye on him for his patron, Ed Buckner, Ned had never expected the journalist to admit it. Did his remark refer to Zhanna or to Yulia? Either way, Corinne Buckner had cut him loose and she could no longer lay claim to his fidelity. But the last thing Ned wanted was for McCloud to extend his investigations to Beregovoy. He resolved not to underestimate the man again.

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