Chapter 14 ~ Storm on the Pacific
A Tale of Two Times: Volume 4, Reign of the War Queen
~ 1 ~ “Praskovya Shtcherbatov, do you recognize me?”
“Yes, General LeMay; your face is well-known.”
“Then you know that I speak with authority.”
“Of course, and I doubt that you have come to arrest me, for you have better things to do with your time.”
“Let’s not waste it, then. Come with me. I want you to tell me if you can identify the five items in my van; I’m eager to deliver them to their owner.”
They walked briskly toward the cargo van waiting between its escort of two white, paneled trucks. Praskovya recognized at once, the shipping company’s logo on the heavy van. So, Basil, you spoke the truth regarding a distinguished visitor. In what, besides war, is he well-versed? The tires of the unmarked escort trucks appeared to be bulletproof.
After carefully examining the most accessible one of the items exposed by the van’s open rear doors, Praskovya emerged from within the unpleasant plume from the idling engines. She rejoined the general, who had been standing back a few feet from the drifting exhaust, waiting, while high overhead, a helicopter slowly circled.
Standing before LeMay, Praskovya noticed his own somewhat pleasanter odor of cigar smoke.
“Five? There are four more behind the one which I was able to see?”
“Five.”
“I do not ‘fiddle with pentagrams’. “
“Nor I, Praskovya. This is ‘a point of intersection of the timely’.”
So, it is poetry in which he is well-versed! American education is better than I had expected. Praskovya smiled to herself and asked,
“And ‘of the distress of nations’?”
“Exactly.”
“I understand your words. I do not need to further inspect the items; they belong to the Soviet Union. But how is it that you bring them to my doorstep?”
LeMay smiled. “We have robbed your robbers. I believe that both of us have a common interest in rooting them out.”
“Yes. I believe with certainty that the bombs’ loss has involved a collaboration between some of our people and some arms dealers.”
“How did you plan to use them, Praskovya?”
She looked him squarely in the face. “To negotiate a concession from your country for each bomb that we would reveal to you. You would have found the first atomic bomb, in perfect working order, in the basement of your own lodge in Virginia. It would have been proof of my sincere desire to barter.”
“Your personal sincerity?”
“Yes. I had planned to knock on your door. Your personal armada’s flights over my country, while we have remained powerless to stop them, have been my inspiration. But you have knocked on my door, instead.”
“I’m flattered. So, you had planned to barter with us regarding each of the four other devices. For what had you planned to barter?”
“First, you would cede West Berlin to us in order to prevent the destruction of Boston, where you would have found the next device, again in perfect working condition. …But that will not happen now. Your armada flies again.”
LeMay nodded gravely. “We want only to receive Soviet cooperation in finding the thieves. They had infiltrated our military, and it seems that they have infiltrated yours. Now we request that you personally accompany your devices, returning them by sea to a port of your choice.”
“I am exiled to sea—on Aegean Shipping and Transit?” Praskovya was looking again at the logo on the side of the van.
“Yes. Their ship is waiting in Long Beach harbor. Are you familiar with Aegean Shipping?”
Praskovya smiled, not bothering to hide her nostalgia as she remembered... “I knew the owner in 1940. In Switzerland. I have not seen him since. Is it not a strange coincidence?”
“Was there a romantic attachment between you, then? He has a spotless reputation regarding what he does. But certainly he’s not a Communist.”
“Basil?”
“Yes. That’s his name.”
“You are correct in believing that he is not a Communist. I had rather wished that he were. Nevertheless, he served excellently as a surgeon’s assistant. He had learned the skills necessary for serving as a ship’s doctor, if the need arose at sea.“
“Who was the surgeon?”
“It was I. Unlike Basil, I do have a medical degree.”
“I hadn’t known. Who was the patient?”
“A Czech. The lover, I believe, of a woman called Miss Wilberforce—a Scottish woman who owned a villa in Switzerland, and who supported various movements against the Nazis. I was there in her villa for a week or two, tending my patient with Basil’s help. Basil was very much attracted to me, but I had many other matters to attend to at that time.”
Praskovya had noted a flicker of surprise marring the General’s perfect poker face, as she was speaking the name of Miss Wilberforce. Now she asked, “Is Miss Wilberforce involved in this affair, General?”
“She is one of them, I believe.”
“Them?”
“Our allies in this affair. They’re an old international business syndicate that calls itself the Clan. It was they who discovered the atomic bombs here in California and turned them over to us. It’s their wish that you accompany your devices on their sea voyage. What do you know about the Clan?”
“Little. What do you know?”
“Beyond their provision of this service, I know only that we regard them as an international, neutral-to-friendly organization—and very secretive. Apparently they possess substantial resources.”
“I heard the same about them after my return to Russia, when I was reporting to Polina my work in Switzerland. Polina is the one who gave to me that assignment in 1940.”
“Who is Polina?”
“Molotov’s wife. She was my patroness in the Party. I have not researched this Clan. Do I understand correctly that you have not done so, either?”
“That is correct. I think each of us has an interest in them now, Praskovya.”
“General, I will accept your generous offer. Perhaps we will learn more about this Clan which is an ally of both of our nations, and for which, I believe that I unknowingly did a service in those days. By sending me back to my country to deliver the bombs, you will preserve my position in the government. What must I do?”
“Arrange for a ship-to-ship transfer. The Aegean vessel has a crane and can deliver the bombs to another vessel. One of your large trawlers would be a good choice. The Pacific is forecast to be as its name says for the next week, and this van is on its way to Long Beach today. You are to come with us.”
“I can arrange for a ship by telephone. ...to take delivery beyond your 200 mile limit?”
“Yes.”
“I can be ready twenty minutes after I have completed the call.”
“I’m accustomed to waiting for ladies, Praskovya. Please call me Curtis.”
“Then, Curtis, if it will not give scandal, come with me into my house. We must ratify our agreement with a drink. I have bourbon and vodka.”
“How is it, Praskovya, that you own property in California and that your name is in the telephone directory?”
“Curtis, I will tell you a state secret: An ancestor of my deceased husband was a fur-trader who won the land from a Spanish merchant in a target-shooting contest. The property has come to me.”
The General nodded. After communicating his intent by rapid hand signals to the drivers of the trucks, he followed Praskovya Shtcherbatov into her California ranch house.
~ 2 ~ “Basil! How good it is to see you again—and piloting your own vessel!”
“Praskovya! Welcome to my wheelhouse. It is a joy to me to see you again—and so soon after hearing your voice on the telephone! I was told that I would receive great profit by merely calling you with a request that you receive a distinguished and ‘well-versed’ visitor this morning, and by having my ship ready and waiting.”
“Do you mean that the Americans have promised you our money? My budget is considerably reduced in these days. You may have to come with me to Moscow to plead for your fee.”
“No; they have promised you to me, and they have already given to me their cash, for this is a high-risk venture, and this vessel is very valuable. On the high seas we are on our own, whereas the arms dealers who robbed you have their own resources, including fast vessels, I’m sure. Perhaps even factions of your own government have such resources.”
“Do you ever tell the truth, Basil?”
“Neither more—nor less—than you, but I am always truthful about matters concerning pickup and delivery of cargo, and concerning conditions of transport. It is my business. …Praskovya, my dear, you may not have loved me as you have loved Ivan, but I know that I am your first love.”
“You are a vain man, Basil.” Praskovya smiled at him. “But you are right. Twenty years ago you were torn between me and Ottilie Wilberforce, but her true lover survived thanks to our surgery, and I left you for Ivan, who died bravely years ago. There were only two weeks of love, unfulfilled, between us, and surely you have recovered many times over since then. General LeMay has told me that Miss Wilberforce has had a hand in our current business. It is true, Basil, that I did very much enjoy your attention in those days; does she, too, still appreciate you?”
“No, she does not. After two decades, that is now plain to me. My dear, how little time you and I have left to enjoy life! I suspect that this shipment truly is saving your position in your government, and I myself have wealth and connections in my advancing age, so, while we have it, we should spend more time together.”
When she had come aboard with General LeMay, Basil and Praskovya had embraced in a formal manner. Seeing that they recognized one another, LeMay had left them. At the end of the gangplank, LeMay had spoken briefly with a young man who had then walked up to the head of the gangplank and waited, glancing up at Basil and then turning to chat with one of the ship’s crew. Basil had understood that the waiting man was a messenger with whom he must speak after sharing a few private words with Praskovya.
The vessel carrying its valuable cargo had cleared the harbor and was entering the open ocean, which was calm, as it had been forecast to be. The two occupants of the wheelhouse had been standing silently watching the sea ahead.
“Why are you here, Basil? I would like to know how all of these events fit together.”
“Praskovya, it was out of the blue that Miss Wilberforce appeared in my office. I confess that my heart skipped a beat or two, but alas, it had not been meant to be—never, from the moment of my first seeing her in the mansion of Kirchemund, before ever you graced my life.”
In those days, Kirchemund had been alive with houseguests. They had flowed through it like a river, and each of them had been in some way actively opposed to the Nazi regime. The Wilberforce family had maintained sufficient security to create a guarded sense of trust among these visitors. During the month of Basil’s residence there, Miss Wilberforce had met customers and arranged for the transport of equipment of various sorts, had smoothly superintended the flow of guests, so that each one arrived, made plans with others, and departed without interference. Basil had greatly admired both her beauty and her efficiency.
Praskovya’s arrival there had surprised Miss Wilberforce, and it had caused her dismay.
Late at night, Basil had been in the nearly-empty guest lounge, hearing from each corner of it the constant crackling of radios broadcasting shortwave transmissions. Of the broadcasts, the Swiss had been the most reliable. The numerous resistance stations had signed on and off according to the fortunes of war. And official German and English stations, with their powerful signals, had broadcast much propaganda. All of the stations, except for the Swiss, broadcast additional messages which were coded, and each of which was decodable by one or another resident of Kirchemund.
Miss Wilberforce had surprised Basil as he was attempting to tune in a Greek station. She had come to him swiftly, and had urgently gripped his shoulders.
“Basil, please come with me! An air taxi will be arriving in a few minutes with a wounded passenger!”
The loss of her usual composure had revealed to Basil Miss Wilberforce’s deep personal concern for the wounded passenger. His heart had been troubled.
With several other residents, the two had raced to the Alps Aero airstrip about fifty yards from Kirchemund. While catching their breaths, they had watched the aircraft growing nearer, its two downward-facing lights marking its upslope approach to the airstrip. They had seen light in the cabin of the rapidly-descending, strange and glowing machine. It had landed not far from them and had taxied to a stop very near to the waiting group.
Basil had been frozen for a moment by a sense that he was living in a scene of science fiction. Then he had quickly followed behind Miss Wilberforce, hurrying toward the craft’s opening window-doors. Immediately, a tall, slender woman in slacks and a short-sleeved white blouse had emerged, holding a rolled-up canvas stretcher. Looking at Basil she had commanded, “You and another strong man must hold this stretcher exactly here,” indicating with her hands a line about three feet from the the air taxi’s door.
Miss Wilberforce had cried out, “Emil! Emil!”, scrambling toward the man lying face-up in the passenger aisle. The tall woman had stopped her. “I am Dr. Praskovya Shtcherbatov, and I am this man’s physician. You love him? If you want him to live, do as I say: You and I will transfer him to the stretcher; men are often too rough with the wounded. Hold him with your arms around the thighs. …Good. …Knowing where his wounds are, I must hold his upper body. Even and steady, my dear. …That is good; he is in place. Wait for me. No one must move.”
Reaching back into the aircraft, the physician had carefully retrieved a large bottle from which ran a flexible tube. Judith, in her Miss Wilberforce Persona, had seen that the other end of the tube was attached to Emil’s arm. “The latest battlefield medical technology, from our American friends,” Dr. Praskovya had explained. “Blood serum. He would have died without it.” Handing the bottle to Judith, she had said, “You are my nurse for the care of Emil Ottokar. Hold this, and walk carefully next to him. Gentlemen, carry him toward the residence, slowly and gently.”
As they had begun to move, Dr. Praskovya Shtcherbatov, gripping her medical bag, had walked next to Judith. “Please, tell me your name; you may call me Praskovya. He has a good chance of survival, if my supplies arrive here soon.”
“I am Ottilie Kruger Wilberforce, but Emil calls me Judith…it’s my nickname in the family.”
Praskovya had pulled her jacket on, juggling her medical bag and her shoulder bag to do so. “Then I will call you Judith, too, when we are with him. I must operate on him immediately, and you must be my assistant. …I hope that the automobile behind those approaching headlights is bringing my medical supplies to your mansion—which is lovely in the moonlight.” As the automobile had been negotiating the road’s final switchback, Praskovya had said, “Yes; I see the flags. It is fortunate that we keep a complete medical supply in our embassy. Stop here with the stretcher!” By this time, nearly all of the villa’s residents had assembled outside it to watch the drama.
Illuminated by the automobile’s headlights, Praskovya had waved her arms from where she stood near Basil. “You are a strong and beautiful woman, Comrade Praskovya,” he had said to her in good Russian, seeing, on her jacket, evidence that she held a high Soviet military rank, for a doctor. She had turned an assessing look on him as the headlights approached, and had smiled at him wordlessly. She had then greeted the automobile’s single passenger, a man whose appearance agreed with his position: the Soviet Ambassador to Switzerland.
Gesturing to the automobile, he had said, “Your requested supplies occupy the entire trunk and all of the available seats, Comrade Praskovya.”
The physician had asked Judith, “Miss Wilberforce, have you prepared a ground-level room, as I have requested?”
Judith had nodded in affirmation, unable to turn her eyes from Emil’s pale countenance.
Praskovya had enlisted a number of the residents to assist in removing her medical supplies from the vehicle, choosing with care the items for each to carry. She had instructed all of them to wait with their loads until after the field operating table had been pulled from the car by two men. Then she had organized the little procession and had guided them to the emptied room with its glowing fireplace. With great efficiency, she had directed the assembly of her operating room while Basil and the other stretcher-bearer had stood by, patiently supporting Emil. Once her preparations had been nearly completed, Basil had said, “Comrade Praskovya, I am a qualified ship’s doctor. I will assist you, along with Miss Wilberforce, if you will have me.”
~ 3 ~ “The experience was wonderful for me, Praskovya: I watched you employing your beautiful hands with marvelous skill, in perfect concert with your body’s grace and the expressions of your lovely face. Your skill merged with your beauty as rivers merge with the sea.”
“You did say that then, Basil. Please do not go on. Instead, let me confess that I had thought in those days that you were the very type of man whom our great Socialist Society would produce in the distant future. Perhaps my granddaughters would find such men in abundant supply—selfless, able, dispensing flattery deemed truthful by them. Alas! We have all been cheated of our futures. Now you must explain to me the present Miss Wilberforce. Is she the one who was also called Judith, who loved our Czech hero?”
While steering the ship, skillfully turning with his own hands the ship’s antique-looking wheel, Basil utilized a very modern-looking console. He was consulting its dials and lights of various colors to check their bearing and make corrections. At the same time, he was looking at Praskovya and listening to her. He answered, “That, she is not. She is the force herself, or the representative of that force, which has so masterfully driven us into each other’s arms, at last.”
“Basil, your hands on the wheel are steering your ship masterfully, but you are not speaking the sensible words of a shrewd shipping merchant.”
“Ah, but I may be the direct descendant of Homer. Who knows? And I do own a thousand ships—if we count lifeboats and the like—so I am a qualified judge of faces. And yet this new Miss Wilberforce at first drew me completely into her deception. She appeared to me as my Miss Wilberforce—aged no less than you or me. I had maintained contact with this Miss Wilberforce, whose money—because she is a partner in my business—has been once or twice a lifebuoy for me. That is, her accountant has been in communication with mine. She, herself, has long rebuffed my personal inquires.”
“When was it that you gave it up?”
“After a few years. At first, her love for this Emil meant to me only that she might come to love me more. I had heard that she returned single, to England.
“Then, on a very recent day, Miss Wilberforce herself appeared in the place of her accountant. We retired to my office in order for her to present a business proposition to me, and, after having greeted me warmly, she became cold and businesslike. I will attempt to repeat exactly what she said to me: Suddenly speaking no longer in the Scottish-accented Greek which I had loved, but in business Greek, she said, ‘I have some property that belongs to an old flame of yours. I would like you arrange for this property to be returned to her.’
"'What property?’ I asked. ‘Who is my old flame?’
"'The property is five atomic bombs. Your old flame is Praskovya Shtcherbatov. I would have tried to communicate with you through Oscar Nerzhin, but he is difficult to find, although it is 80 to 20 that he would have come to you. I could not risk delay or uncertainty, so I have come myself.'"
“Basil, I cannot even begin to think who it was with whom you were talking. Did she say more? I think so, for now we are together.”
“Praskovya, my dear, the best part came next. Of course, I asked her where she had acquired the bombs (thinking that perhaps my silent partner was out of her mind)…”
“Basil, what did she say?”
“Miss Wilberforce said, ‘I have robbed her robbers of their take. Praskovya has need of them, and you have need yet of Praskovya.'"
“I told her that surely her mind was deranged by brooding about you for the past quarter century, ‘because of my love for both of you.'"
She looked at me oddly, and then she called her telephone exchange service requesting contact with you, Praskovya. She asked me to speak with you according to her instructions. I thought that you were in Moscow.”
“Basil, was that she, saying in Russian that a former acquaintance wished to speak with me?”
“Yes, Praskovya.”
“Your call came through to me on my Moscow line, and I agreed to meet your distinguished, ‘well-versed’, visitor who wished to speak with me about a personal matter. In Moscow, my staff would have received him.”
“You did not expect to be contacted in California?”
“I had thought it only a remote possibility.”
“Were you surprised to greet General LeMay at your door this morning?”
“I was very much surprised.”
Praskovya reached up and took Basil’s shoulders tenderly in her strong, skilled hands. Pulling him close, she looked up into his eyes with simple openness in hers. “You are the only man who has ever truly flattered me, Basil. What you have said about my skill as a surgeon—as an extension of my natural beauty—touched me deeply then and has done so again in repetition. I have thought to myself, ‘Could I feel any more naked before a man than I feel when Basil speaks such words to me?'"
“I have felt those words to be perfectly true, Praskovya. They constitute one of the truest things that I have ever said.”
“I am very glad to have come to your vessel, Basil. …I see that we are running very fast; there cannot be many coastal patrol boats able to match this speed. Do you run arms, yourself?”
“Do you mean, am I in the same trade as your robbers?”
“It has crossed my mind.”
“No. I am not an arms dealer. I have, however, no-questions-asked rates for high-risk ventures.”
“This run is one such venture, Basil.”
“My only profit on this venture will be you.”
“How happy would I be to believe you!”
Tenderly cupping her face in his hands, Basil asked, “My dear, what persuaded you to come to me along with your cargo?”
“It was our new acquaintance, General LeMay.”
Looking closely into her face, Basil sensed that it was a matter of state which had persuaded her. Yet, here they were, alone together—with five atomic bombs beneath their feet.
“After I had spoken with General LeMay on the telephone, Praskovya, I knew that Miss Wilberforce was not out of her mind, and that truly, I might see you again.”
“You simply called him on the telephone, as you have called me?”
“Yes, but I made the call to his headquarters. Its number is in the telephone directory. Miss Wilberforce provided me with the extension number of his secretary, who put me through to him.”
“Basil, now I am glad that I have been countermanded in my scheme to use these atomic bombs. Having spoken with him, I am certain that General LeMay would have used his personal authority to strike the Soviet Union with his entire force, had I implemented the first step of my plan. I believe that he would not have waited for political authorization to do so, for I think that he is operating on his own authority in this matter. I might have caused the end of us all! Basil, you have given me something that I have not felt for a long time.”
“What is that, Praskovya?”
“Hope, Basil. Hope.”
~ 4 ~ Toward evening, they approached their rendezvous point with the trawler, the hold of which had never held a fish.
The trawler’s hold had been quickly cleared of its electronic gear, and the crew had installed tie-down bolts exactly positioned for securing the five atomic devices. Captain Ivan, Praskovya’s deceased husband’s namesake, had been given orders to sail the trawler to this point in the Pacific and to wait no longer than two hours to receive its cargo. He had been informed that the Greek company’s light commercial cargo ship would deliver it by crane to his ship, and would deliver also Dr. Praskovya Shtcherbatov. He was to proceed then to the Soviet port to which she directed him. Coastal electronic surveillance was Captain Ivan’s usual assignment. He was a routine-intelligence officer.
Ivan’s superior had told him that, “Dr. Praskovya Shtcherbatov is a dangerous woman. She was close to Stalin and is said to have saved his position more than once. Even at her current age, she is very attractive and deceptively disarming, but you had best keep your opinions to yourself. She has the power to write your death warrant, should you simply spill coffee on her. Yours was the vessel nearest to the rendezvous point, Captain, when this order came in. The bright side of your situation is that, if Shtcherbatov does not write your death warrant, you may be promoted; they say that she always rewards performance of duty. Who knows, however, what the truth is about these things.”
They had just begun circling the rendezvous point, in the vast stillness of early evening, when the Greek’s ship was sighted, bearing straight down on them. Ivan commanded that his trawler be slowed to a near-idle. The light cargo ship passed them and circled to come up alongside, where it matched their slow speed and maintained a twenty-foot separation between the vessels.
Seeing a man with a bullhorn step onto the deck of the Greek vessel’s pilot house, which was about ten feet higher than the deck upon which he himself was standing, Ivan brought out his own bullhorn. Then he saw that a tall woman had appeared, standing beside the man. She was dressed in slacks and a white blouse under a nicely-fitting Soviet Officer’s jacket of the type worn by medical doctors. It is Dr. Praskovya Shtcherbatov. Captain Ivan pulled himself up straighter.
The man holding the bullhorn appeared to be assessing the trawler’s hold. Then he turned and signed to someone in his own ship, and Ivan saw a crane appear out of the cargo ship’s hold, into which he was unable to see. The crane operator, in his small cab at the junction of the crane’s two sections, was able to see easily into both ships. He and the man holding the bullhorn seemed to be well-satisfied with what they saw. The man’s voice from the bullhorn said, “Captain Ivan, we are going to lay a sea bumper between the ships.” Beginning at the stern of the cargo ship, several of its crew members began feeding a long line of floats into the gap between the two ships. As each unit was ready to go over the side, a crew member activated its inflation mechanism, and soon the long line of cushioning floats was in place, attached to the cargo ship.
Captain Ivan felt uneasily that Dr. Shtcherbatov‘s eyes were steadily trained upon him. The man with the bullhorn turned his attention to Ivan’s crewmen in the hold. The crane lifted the first atomic bomb by the cables attached to the four upper corners of the metal frame to which the bomb was attached.
Basil held the bullhorn in one hand while raising his other arm and pointing to the trawler’s hold. The crew chief in the hold then pointed to the location where the bomb was to be set down. A rope dangled from each lower corner of the bomb’s frame, swaying as the frame and the bomb within it hovered over the hold, rising and falling with the gentle motion of the sea under the two ships. Each of four crewmen took hold of one of the ropes, and with the cooperation of the crane operator, controlled the frame’s position. Basil shouted though his bullhorn, “Run the ropes though your anchor loops, now.” Once that had been done, the crane’s operator expertly coordinated the frame’s touchdown with the ship’s motion.
The routine was now established, but as each of the other four bombs was transferred, one after another, tension was rising because the sea was beginning to rise. Each transfer took more care, effort and time.
After completion of the final transfer, the crane’s position was changed, and the boom dipped for a moment out of Captain Ivan’s sight. At that moment, both ships rolled in the rising sea, and all eyes turned to the horizon, which no longer appeared to be smooth. Its appearance was now like the torn edge of a piece of paper. The crane reappeared with a light rope dangling from it, to which was attached a small disk seat, swaying in the air. When the seat swung toward Praskovya and Basil, Basil snatched it from the air and seated himself on it. Ivan saw him holding onto the rope with both hands while talking steadily to Praskovya. Then Basil dismounted and Praskovya took the seat. As the sea continued to rise, Ivan saw that Praskovya would have to be set down in the small deck space on which he was currently standing.
Below, in the trawler’s hold, the crew were working frantically to secure their deadly load against the rolling of the rising sea, as the hold hatches began closing against the sea’s roiling water. Through the wheelhouse window, Ivan’s pilot cast an anxious glance at him while holding their ship steadily side-by-side with Basil’s. Waiting for Praskovya to swing across to his ship, Ivan saw her dismount from the seat and begin an animated discussion with Basil, both of them holding onto the rope for support as the two ships began to pitch.
