Cast No Shadow by Peter Sharp (books recommended by bts .txt) 📗

an order. Kelly complied and took the chair at the desk, across from the man who remained facing away.

“Welcome Mr Shepherd!” he continued. “I am sorry for this inconvenience, but there are one or two pieces of information that we need you to tell us, if you will.” The tone was placatory if not condescending. There was something about the voice that caught Kelly’s attention. He decided to play along.

“Very well,” he said.

“Thank you,” answered the voice, “perhaps we can start with your name?”

“As I told your assistant in the anteroom, my name is Bill Shepherd.”

“I think you must have misunderstood,” the voice answered. “I meant your real name!”

Kelly’s skin tingled slightly. Keeping his voice level, he answered curtly, “My real name is Bill Shepherd!”

There was a pause before the owner of the voice answered. Swivelling his chair round to face Kelly he replied with a snarl.

“I think not, Mr Kelly!”

Old Comrades

Vladeshenko!

Kelly froze for a moment, but forced himself to remain calm.

“So, we meet again, Mr Kelly.” The Russian smiled broadly. “It seems such a long time.”

“Delighted to see you again, Comrade Major Vladeshenko,” lied Kelly. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he started to reach into his jacket.

“One moment please!” said Vladeshenko quickly as he pulled open a drawer in the desk, his hand emerging clasping a German Luger, pointed directly at Kelly’s chest. “Now you may smoke.”

Kelly gently pulled a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket and offered the open packet across the table. Vladeshenko took a cigarette with his left hand and ran it under his nose as he sniffed it, placed it in his mouth and, still keeping the Luger pointed at Kelly, adroitly lit the cigarette with his left hand, using a lighter that had been lying on the desk.

“By the way,” the Russian said between puffs of his cigarette, “do you recognise the pistol?”

“Should I?” asked Kelly.

“It was the weapon you were carrying when the glorious sons of the revolution saved you from the clutches of the German barbarians, all those years ago in Murmansk province,” Vladeshenko explained. He replaced it in the drawer, but left the drawer open. “I kept it as a souvenir.”

“That was thoughtful of you, Major,” said Kelly. “You may be interested to know that I still have the fatigues you dressed me in when you imprisoned me. Your fatigues, my Luger. Seems we are even, Major.”

“You should perhaps know, Mr Kelly, that my rank is now Colonel, not Major,” the Russian corrected him with a certain arrogance.

It was exactly the response Kelly had hoped to provoke. He knew that the Russian could not possibly still be a major, but he needed to know whether he was still serving and if so at what rank. He now had that information.

“So, your presence here is as a military adviser, not as a civilian adviser?” asked Kelly naively.

Vladeshenko’s face had turned to thunder. He knew he had been outwitted and was inwardly furious, both with Kelly and with himself. Realising there was no room left to manoeuvre, he answered simply, “That is correct.”

“But why, Vladeshenko?” asked Kelly, his brow furrowed. “Who are you advising? Socarras and his thugs?”

“Socarras is a fool!” spat Vladeshenko. “He knows that the Americans will engineer him out and replace him with Batista. He thinks our presence in the country will deter that.”

“And it won’t?” asked Kelly.

“Of course not,” sneered Vladeshenko. “Perhaps if we had five divisions posted here it might. One day of course we will,” he added as an afterthought and savoured the moment before continuing, “The Americans will support a coup d’état which will bring Batista back. Our goals are longer term than that. We anticipate that the Cuban people will rise up in a glorious communist revolution. We will simply guide and support their natural progression to enlightenment.”

Kelly wondered if Vladeshenko really believed the propaganda he constantly preached. On reflection he decided he probably did.

“So instead of aiding Socarras you are working with the communist groups to consolidate them and to train them?” he asked.

The sneer on Vladeshenko’s face told of problems and trouble. In a flash Kelly realised that things were not going well for Vladeshenko. The Cuban communists were not playing ball, and the whole operation was probably in jeopardy.

“Too many questions, Mr Kelly,” said Vladeshenko flatly, his face a mask. “It is we who need to ask the questions. I want you to meet an old friend.” He pressed a bell push near the desk and within seconds a door to the rear swung open and a short man in a grey suit entered. It was a few seconds before Kelly recognised the man behind the evil grin.

Botvinik! The political officer from the ‘Ekaterina’.

Kelly had felt extremely uneasy about being the captive of Vladeshenko, but now he felt it doubly so. He had, after all, humiliated both men in the past. A fact neither of them was likely to have forgotten.

“You remember Commander Botvinik I think?” Vladeshenko asked, the sneer returning to his face. “You have information which he needs. I will leave the two of you to talk about old times. Please excuse me.”

He rose and started towards the door. Stopping midway he turned to Kelly, the menace unmistakable in his voice, he said, “You mentioned earlier that we were ‘even’, Mr Kelly. That is far from being the case. Your actions caused a setback in my career and led to poor Lieutenant Botvinik, as he was then, being demoted to Second Lieutenant.” He paused, chewing the knuckle of his first finger as if pondering something. “Do you know?” he continued, pointing at Kelly, and wagging his finger, “I do believe he still bears you a grudge. Goodbye, Mr Kelly.”

With that he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Botvinik took Vladeshenko’s place behind the desk and stared at Kelly for a full minute without speaking. Finally, however, he did speak. “Where are they, Mr Kelly?” he asked.

“Where are who?”

“Agent Drinkwater and the student Negrin of course,”