The day passed slowly. Sarah tried to catch up on her sleep, and dozed for most of the afternoon. But her mind kept coming back to the meeting with Larisa planned for this evening.
Could it be a trap? She had no way of knowing if the letter was actually from Vasilov. But surely, she reasoned, if the Russians for some reason wanted to trap her, then they would have sent someone who spoke English, who could persuade her. She didn’t want to have to explain to Tustrum what she was doing, except in the vaguest terms. But it seemed prudent to let him know she was meeting Larisa.
Predictably, Tustrum advised caution. ‘It could be genuine,’ he agreed as they sat in the Embassy dining room making the best of a thin soup and rather dry bread. ‘In fact, it most likely is. This all seems too ad hoc and amateur for an official set-up.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Sarah said.
‘And the Russians want to keep us sweet,’ Tustrum went on. ‘If they don’t want to help you, then the easiest thing for them would be to ignore your letter to this Vasilov. Do nothing. But even so, I’d take care.’ He considered for a moment. ‘Are you armed?’
Sarah shook her head. That wasn’t an option that had occurred to her.
‘I’ll get you a gun,’ Tustrum said. ‘Something small you can keep hidden. I assume…?’ He let the question hang.
‘Oh, I can shoot,’ Sarah assured him. ‘I’ve done the SOE training too, so I can look after myself.’
‘Let’s hope so. And good luck. Let me know when you’re back safe and sound, won’t you?’
* * *
She could feel the reassuring weight of the small pistol Tustrum had provided in the small of her back where she had it tucked into the waistband of her trousers. Her grey coat covered it. The evening was cold, so Sarah wore a sweater as well. She hoped it would cover the bulge of the gun if she took the coat off.
The street outside the Embassy was deserted as she crossed the road. There was a hint of rain in the air. Like London, the city was in near-darkness. There was only one street off the main road that Vasilov could have meant. It was little more than an alleyway between two high brick-built structures. Sarah peered into the narrow opening, but it was impossible to see anything in the darkness. She should have asked Tustrum for a flashlight.
The ground was uneven, and she couldn’t see more than a yard or two ahead. Should she wait, or continue down the alley? Was it safe to call out?
She decided to risk it. ‘Larisa?’
Silence.
Sarah turned back towards the main road, wondering how long she should wait before she gave up and went back to the Embassy. A dark shape moved across the entrance to the alley, barely more than a shadow. Something brushed against Sarah’s arm, and she stifled a cry.
‘Sarah,’ a voice breathed, close to her ear. Then a gloved hand took hers.
She recognised the woman’s voice and, relieved, allowed herself to be led down the alley. In fact, it wasn’t far before they emerged into another street. There was enough light now to see Larisa’s reassuring smile.
‘Where are we going?’ Sarah asked. But she got no reply.
They passed few other people, and Sarah wondered if there was a curfew. Tustrum hadn’t mentioned it. Their destination became apparent long before they arrived. Its towers and turrets stark against the night sky, the Kremlin was far larger than Sarah had imagined. How many people, she wondered, had admired the sight of it as they approached and then never left? Would she be one of them?
Larisa led the way to a side entrance. They passed through a small entrance hall where a guard sat behind a desk. He glanced up at them, and nodded – obviously recognising Larisa. They exchanged some brief words in Russian, and the guard nodded for them to go on. Sarah wondered what the woman had told him, who the guard thought she was.
The part of the Kremlin they were in was like a cross between a castle and a country house. The corridors were bare, the rooms they passed sparsely furnished. But the floor was polished marble and the ceilings were adorned with ornate plasterwork.
Finally, Larisa opened a heavy wooden door and gestured for Sarah to go inside. She found herself in a large room lined with books. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a glow across the centre of the room. A cluster of several small armchairs was grouped round a table beneath the chandelier. The only other light came from a lamp on a small desk in the corner of the room – the man sitting behind it almost lost in the huge space. He rose to his feet as Sarah entered, Larisa closing the door behind them.
‘So, you are Sarah,’ he said, his voice thick with the Russian accent.
‘That’s right.’
A few wisps of white hair clung to the man’s head. He was shorter than Sarah, and seemed shorter still because he stooped, his shoulders hunched. As he approached, Sarah could see that he was ancient, his face lined with experience and his movements dulled with age. But his eyes were bright and alert.
He reached out to shake Sarah’s hand. ‘I am Feyodor Vasilov.’
Larisa said something in Russian, and Vasilov nodded and replied.
‘Larisa is my granddaughter,’ he explained to Sarah. ‘I am afraid she has never learned to speak English. But please, take a seat. We have much to discuss, I am sure. Take a seat,’ he repeated, gesturing to one of the armchairs. ‘And then I have things to show you.’
As soon as they were all seated, the old man asked, ‘How much has Elizabeth told you about me?’
‘Not very much,’ Sarah admitted. ‘She didn’t know if you would still be here.’
Vasilov shrugged. ‘Life goes on.’ He leaned forward, glancing at Larisa before asking: ‘And how is George?’
Sarah had wondered how best to reply to this. She had decided that it was probably best to be truthful. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea who George is.’
The old man nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. ‘But you know Elizabeth, yes?’
‘Of course. She said that you have a similar role to hers. I assume you are some sort of curator?’ Elizabeth had told her as much, but she wanted to keep the conversation going.
‘Our own archive here in the Kremlin is rather smaller than Elizabeth’s, or so I believe from how she described it to me.’
When did you meet her?’
‘Oh, many years ago now. Many many years. So much has changed. And yet, some things remain the same.’ He stood up, apparently invigorated by their brief conversation. ‘But Elizabeth asks, in her letter, that I give you any information I can about what she calls the Vril.’
‘They live underground,’ Sarah explained, not knowing how much the letter had told him. ‘Creatures of darkness—’
He waved her to silence. ‘Then underground and into darkness is where we must go.’
He turned to speak rapidly to Larisa, who nodded. She went over to the desk where her grandfather had been working, and opened a drawer. She returned with three torches, handing one to Vasilov and another to Sarah.
‘If anyone speaks to you, let one of us reply,’ Vasilov warned as they left the room. He closed and locked the door behind them.
‘Where are we going?’ Sarah asked.
‘First, to the Arsenal Tower, and then you will see.’
* * *
There were as few people inside the Kremlin as out on the streets. Or at least, there were in the secluded, barely lit passageways that Vasilov led them along. They descended a stone staircase, and continued along a narrow passageway with whitewashed walls. It wasn’t long before Sarah was hopelessly lost, with no idea how she might ever find her way out again on her own if she had to.
‘The Kremlin is like a city,’ Vasilov told her. ‘Built for the whole population of Moscow to retreat into and take shelter if necessary.’
Finally they reached another stairway, this one made of iron, spiralling down into the cellarage. At the bottom was a large iron gate, secured with a heavy padlock. As Larisa opened it, Vasilov explained they were below the Arsenal Tower.
‘There are many tunnels beneath the Kremlin, and several converge below this tower. There are underground rivers too, all manner of secret ways. Most of them have been blocked off now, for security reasons.’
The other side of the gate was a wide, low passage. There was no light here, so they turned on the torches. Larisa and Vasilov concentrated their beams on a large flagstone a short way along the passage. Under the old man’s instructions, Sarah helped Larisa slide the flagstone to one side, revealing a dark cavity below.
‘Down there?’ she said.
‘There is more room than there seems.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I shall go first.’
In fact, there were steps down, leading into another tunnel. But the opening was narrow, and Sarah felt the gun tucked into her waistband catch on the edge as she climbed down. She paused for a moment at the bottom to reposition it. The walls, floor, and arched roof were lined with white stone that almost glowed under the glare of the torch beams.
‘There are other ways in,’ Vasilov said as he led the way down the tunnel. ‘But this way is unguarded. Even Stalin does not know it exists.’
‘We’re avoiding the guards?’
‘The less they know the better,’ Vasilov said.
Larisa caught her grandfather’s arm, speaking rapidly and urgently to him. The old man frowned and glanced back at Sarah before answering.
‘What is it?’
‘Larisa is worried that there may be guards at the Archive. But I have assured her this is unlikely. They guard the entranceways, the other access tunnels, but not the Archive itself.’
‘The Archive? Like Elizabeth’s department at the British Museum?’
‘It was a library originally,’ Vasilov explained as he led the way along the tunnel.
The air was damp and close. Somewhere Sarah could hear water dripping.
‘Don’t the books get damp?’
‘The Archive itself is dry enough. But you are right, it is a worry, especially as the books are so old. They come from Constantinople.’ He glanced back at Sarah, who shrugged.
‘Sorry, ancient history isn’t really my thing.’
‘The city fell in 1453,’ Vasilov explained. ‘The library was said to be unsurpassed. But the only books that survived were taken by the Emperor’s niece Sofia, and brought here to Moscow.’
‘Why Moscow?’ Sarah wondered.
‘She married a Russian prince. Her grandson was cruel and sadistic, but also learned and well read. He added to the library, and kept it hidden and secret. He created these tunnels by diverting underground rivers. Anyone who knew of the library’s location was put to death.’
‘That seems a bit extreme,’ Sarah said.
‘They did not call him Ivan the Terrible for nothing.’
They walked on in silence for a while.
‘For many years the library was lost,’ Vasilov said. ‘Most people think it still is, if it ever really existed. But we maintain it, and we have added to it, as you shall soon see.’
The tunnel ended in two enormous metal doors. Vasilov produced a large key, which he handed to Larisa, who unlocked one of the doors. It swung open easily. Vasilov went inside first. Sarah saw him reaching for a switch on the side wall, and a light came on overhead.
The chamber it illuminated had been made by blocking off a section of the tunnel. It extended into the distance, fading into darkness and shadow. Wooden shelves lined the walls, stacked with metal strong boxes. The floor was a maze of wooden crates and packing cases. Sarah could see an immediate and obvious similarity with the vault beneath the British Museum, although this was on a smaller scale. And unlike the Museum vault, everything here seemed to be packed away, nothing left out on display. She guessed this was to protect the artefacts, books and papers from the damp, as Vasilov had said.
Larisa pushed past Sarah, heading for one of the nearest crates. She murmured something to Vasilov as she passed, and he nodded grimly.
‘This is impressive,’ Sarah said.
‘And now that you are here,’ Vasilov said, his voice suddenly harsh and angry, ‘now that we have brought you where you wanted to come, I think you should tell us who you really are and what you want here.’
‘You know who I am,’ Sarah said, surprised at his sudden change of tone.
‘We know nothing about you, except what was in the letter that is supposed to come from Elizabeth Archer.’
‘It does,’ Sarah protested. ‘She gave it to me herself. She’s a friend, or at least a colleague.’
Vasilov was shaking his head. Larisa reached into a crate and pulled out a revolver. She trained it on Sarah, gesturing for her to put her hands up.
‘You claim Elizabeth sent you,’ Vasilov went on. ‘Yet you do not know George. And you have a gun. Don’t deny it, Larisa saw you reach for it earlier.’
‘I wasn’t reaching for it,’ Sarah protested. ‘Look, let’s just talk about this, can we?’
Larisa was right in front of her now. The gun held steady, aiming at Sarah’s chest.
‘Take off your coat,’ Vasilov ordered. ‘Carefully. Slowly.’
Sarah did as he said, dropping her coat over the nearest crate. The old man reached behind her and removed the small handgun Tustrum had given her. He put the gun down on top of a nearby crate.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Tell us the truth, or Larisa will shoot you.’
But Sarah barely heard. She was staring past the young woman, into the darkness beyond, watching as a patch of shadow coalesced into a shape. Long, crooked limbs reached out over the top of a crate. A bloated, glistening mass hauled itself up, crouching behind Larisa’s shoulder.
‘Tell us,’ Vasilov demanded. ‘Now!’
Larisa braced herself, legs apart, holding the gun in both hands ready to fire.
Close behind her, the hideous creature shivered and tensed as it prepared to launch itself at the woman.