Page 279 of Fall of Giants (The Century 1)

"This is good, but can you change things?" Walter said.

"We have a strong chance of winning the election for the Constituent Assembly. "

"When will it be held?"

"It has been much delayed-"

"Why?"

Grigori sighed. "First the provisional government called together a council of representatives which, after two months, finally agreed on the composition of a sixty-member second council to draft the electoral law-"

"Why? Why such an elaborate process?"

Grigori looked irate. "They say they want the election to be absolutely unchallengeable-but the real reason is that the conservative parties are dragging their feet, knowing they stand to lose. "

He was only a sergeant, Walter thought, but his analysis seemed quite sophisticated. "So when will the election be held?"

"September. "

"And why do you think the Bolsheviks will win?"

"We are still the only group firmly committed to peace. And everyone knows that-thanks to all the newspapers and pamphlets we've produced. "

"Why did you say you were doing 'dangerously' well?"

"It makes us the government's prime target. There's a warrant out for Lenin's arrest. He's had to go into hiding. But he's still running the party. "

Walter believed that, too. If Lenin could keep control of his party from exile in Zurich, he could certainly do so from a hideaway in Russia.

Walter had made the delivery and gathered the information he needed. He had accomplished his mission. A sense of relief came over him. Now all he had to do was get home.

With his foot he pushed the sack containing the ten thousand rubles across the floor to Grigori.

He finished his tea and stood up. "Enjoy your onions," he said, and he walked to the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man in the blue tunic fold his copy of Pravda and get to his feet.

Walter bought a ticket to Luga and boarded the train. He entered a third-class compartment. He pushed through a group of soldiers smoking and drinking vodka, a family of Jews with all their possessions in string-tied bundles, and some peasants with empty crates who had presumably sold their chickens. At the far end of the carriage he paused and looked back.

The blue tunic entered the carriage.

Walter watched for a second as the man pushed through the passengers, carelessly elbowing people out of his way. Only a policeman would do that.

Walter jumped off the train and hurriedly left the station. Recalling his tour of exploration that afternoon, he headed at a fast walk for the canal. It was the season of short summer nights, so the evening was light. He hoped he might have shaken his tail, but when he glanced over his shoulder he saw the blue tunic following him. He had presumably been following Peshkov, and had decided to investigate Grigori's onion-selling peasant friend.

The man broke into a jogging run.

If caught, Walter would be shot as a spy. He had no choice about what he had to do next.

He was in a low-rent neighborhood. All of Petrograd looked poor, but this district had the cheap hotels and dingy bars that clustered near railway stations all over the world. Walter started to run, and the blue tunic quickened his pace to keep up.

Walter came to a canalside brickyard. It had a high wall and a gate with iron bars, but next door was a derelict warehouse on an unfenced site. Walter turned off the street, raced across the warehouse site to the waterside, then scrambled over the wall into the brickyard.

There had to be a watchman somewhere, but Walter saw no one. He looked for a place of concealment. It was a pity the light was still so clear. The yard had its own quay with a small timber pier. All around him were stacks of bricks the height of a man, but he needed to see without being seen. He moved to a stack that was partly dismantled-some having been sold, presumably-and swiftly rearranged a few so that he could hide behind them and look through a gap. He eased the Mosin-Nagant revolver out of his belt and cocked the hammer.

A few moments later, he saw the blue tunic come over the wall.

The man was of medium height and thin, with a small mustache. He looked scared: he had realized he was no longer merely following a suspect. He was engaged in a manhunt, and he did not know whether he was the hunter or the quarry.

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