Opening Moves

The Polish Major leaned forward, inviting the proprietor into conspiracy.

“Surely they would not miss one bottle Monsieur Bossong?”

The owner looked up at the doorway, even though he knew no one was there.

“Commandant, again I regret, but I have signed a document and must deliver them all to the Château where they will be checked in. The figures are precise.” The owner consulted a document on the desk.

“One hundred and six bottles of Trimbach and  fifty-eight bottles of Edelzwicker by tomorrow afternoon. I have even been given a permit and military transport has been detailed to arrive here at 2pm tomorrow. For me to be paid I must ensure they are all checked in at the Château.”

The owner wrung his hands in the manner common to all those of subservience over the ages.

“Forgive me Commandant, but I cannot appropriate one for you as I will not risk the wrath of ‘Deux’. Please feel free to select another wine and I will sell it to you at cost as a token of my apology.”

The Major grunted acceptance and looked over at other wines arranged in a large wooden rack down one long wall. He studiously picked up a particularly good Moselle and chose his words carefully.

“Surely one soldier looks like another in our uniforms Monsieur. And besides, French Military Intelligence is all over at Baden-Baden with their top brass.”

The Moselle was returned in favour of a dusty Liebfraumilch.

“Commandant, I experienced the pleasures of the Gestapo and their agents crawling around here for nearly five years during the occupation. I know the type intimately. The man with the infantry officer was Deuxieme Bureau.”

The Liebfraumilch was returned and the Moselle reselected.

“Maybe some General has a party planned then eh? In any case, I have to get moving. May I have this one monsieur?”

The Major passed the bottle and its label drew the admiration of the proprietor.

“An excellent choice Commandant. If you give me a moment.”

Etienne Bossong turned around to the rear bench, where he wrapped the wine in embossed tissue paper and included his card.

As his back was turned, the Major leant forward and scanned the signed purchase documents.

The details went swiftly into his mind and his stance was apparently unchanged when the bottle was passed to him.

“On my account Monsieur?”

“It shall be so Commandant. Good night sir.”

“Bon nuit, Monsieur Bossong.”

Hiding his disappointment, the owner withdrew his ledger and entered a further sum on the growing account of Major S.Kowalski.

Outside Stanislaw Kowalski mentally processed his day so far as he made a few swift notes in a small pocket book.

Having taken leave, he had signed for a jeep and spent the day driving around Northern Alsace sightseeing, paying particular attention to large buildings like castles and Château’s. After eight hours of the Alsatian countyside, he decided that he had done enough for one day, and he had gone to get a bottle of fine wine, prior to taking his woman rowing on the River L’ill.

Now, by the strangest coincidence, his evening plans would change. That which he sought all day appeared to have dropped into his lap by chance, although the following day Kœnigsbourg would have been his first enquiry. He smiled to himself and mused that if you wrote it in a story it wouldn’t be believable. Anyway, for whatever reason, Madame Fortune had smiled.

Obviously, Irma now had to wait as he would take a drive over to Orschwiller and see if he could definitely confirm this ‘Biarritz’ at the nearby Château before passing the information on to his contact. Sergey Andreevich Kovelskin was the name he was given at birth and he was an Officer of the GRU, born and bred on the banks of the Volga.

Chapter 28 – THE DATE

Little did we guess that what has been called the century of the common man would witness as its outstanding feature more common men killing each other with greater facilities than any other five centuries together in the history of the world.

Sir Winston Spencer Churchill

1410 hrs Wednesday, 1st August 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

Despite his seniority, Pekunin had little doubt as to his fate if neither his nor Beria’s assets came up with the information on the French Symposium.

Soon he would have to return to his GRU section within Zhukov’s Headquarters but, for now, he hung on in the hope that the information would come through.

Having signed and sealed the paperwork to promote Nazarbayeva to Major, he was taking a constitutional early afternoon walk around the Kremlin complex when he saw the commotion caused by a running man. His immediate reaction was to brace himself and go out with dignity, until he realised the uniform was GRU and that the running figure was his Communications Starshiy Leytenant.