The Margin of Evil! Read Online Free Page A

go, that's why! Why do you keep that file ...?'  He retorted.
    ' Well then, beggars can't be choosers can they?  As for the file, I keep it as a reminder!  Of better times when I had two eyes,' she hissed.  There was a brief pause while she composed herself, then she carried on.  'Look! This is what you and your kind did to me!'
    He watched as she took her right eye out of its socket.  She then bounced it on the table twice and then coolly replaced it. 'Okay you've made your point,' Georgii thought.
    ' Tomorrow at dawn, I want you to be part of a raid I'm organising.  Briefing will be at four thirty in the morning.  The raid will be at six. Radetzky you may go but remember, I will be watching you and one mistake and it will all be over for you!  Remember that!  You may go and get Popov.'
    Georgii sat down at his desk.  Vasiliev was on the phone. He thought about the meeting with Trofimov. The boot was most definitely on the other foot and he would definitely from now on have to mind his 'Ps' and 'Qs'.  He would just have to take extra care on whatever he did.   He went home.
    Next morning the streets were almost deserted .  He looked at his watch.  It was three o'clock in the morning.  Georgii made his way to the Militsya station. Snow had fallen in the night and this had made walking difficult.  These days there was no street lighting.  He could make out distant shapes scurrying around in the darkness but no one bothered him. He persevered on with his journey. There was a damp sensation in his boots. They were beginning to leak.   Georgii sighed; he would have to go down to the city mortuary to see if he could get hold of another pair. Arriving at the station, he found that the place was a hive of activity. Red Guards were receiving and giving orders; other people were milling around. Georgii pushed his way through the throng and went on up to the first floor. For once in his life he was early.   He sat down at his desk. He could see that Trofimov was in her office.  She was busy talking to a Red Guard.
    Vasiliev came in and the pair waited until they were called. They did not have to wait long.   Trofimov summoned them all to the centre of the office. She explained exactly what she wanted. The Guards would go in first and then the Militsya/ Cheka team would follow on behind. Acting on intelligence received there were some non-citizens who planned to leave Moscow within the next 24 hours. Their intentions were to smuggle out artefacts of national importance. The orders came from the top and they had to be stopped at all costs. She then gave a long boring speech on how remnants of bourgeois and intelligentsia had organised themselves, with the soul intention of robbing the proletariat of its cultural heritage. They all synchronised their watches, then set off for their destination.
    The motorcade set off and soon parked up a couple of streets away from their objective. The street was like any other in Moscow at six o'clock in the morning. The snow had erased everything on the pavement. It was virgin snow. There were no lights on - no signs of life.   The house looked as though it had been transported back ten years in time. Georgii thought to himself that the street seemed relatively untouched by the madness of the last two years. They crouched down and waited. He watched.  A whistle blew and some Red Guards ran up to the front door and forced it open with a battering ram. They disappeared inside; he could now hear a commotion going on inside the house. He ran into the house. The scene that greeted him was one of unimaginable chaos being created within the environs of order. The noise had moved on to an upper floor. Vasiliev ran upstairs. Georgii stayed on the ground floor. He looked around.  The house was immaculate, there were pictures on the wall and the carpets were not soiled. It was a perfect picture of order. There was an old woman in her nightclothes remonstrating with the Guards. They ignored