“You won’t find a Judas among us,” said another voice, as Vladimir stifled a cough. The men all stood as one to acknowledge Karpenko as their leader.
“Then we will meet again on Saturday morning, but until then we must all remain silent, and keep our own counsel.”
Vladimir’s heart was thumping as the men rose and shook hands with their leader, before leaving the church. He remained crouched behind the altar until the voices had faded, but he still didn’t move until he finally heard the great west door slam shut and a key turn in the lock. He scurried back to the vestry, and with the help of a stool, wriggled out of the window, clinging on to the ledge before dropping down to the ground like a seasoned wrestler. The one discipline where Alexander wasn’t in his class.
Aware that, he didn’t have a moment to lose, Vladimir ran in the opposite direction to Mr. Karpenko, and headed toward a street that didn’t need a NO ENTRY sign, as only party officials ever entered Stalin Prospect. He knew exactly where Major Polyakov lived, but still wondered if he had the nerve to knock on his front door at that time of night. At any time of the day or night, for that matter.
When he reached the street with its leafy trees and neat cobblestone pavement, he stood and stared at the house, losing his nerve with every second that passed. He finally summoned up enough courage to approach the front door. Vladimir raised a fist and was about to knock when the door was flung open by a man who didn’t like to be taken by surprise.
“What do you want, boy?” he said, grabbing him by the ear.
“I have information,” said Vladimir, “and you told us when you visited our school last year looking for recruits, that information was golden.”
“This had better be good,” said Polyakov, who didn’t let go of his ear as he dragged his unwelcome visitor inside. He slammed the door behind him. “Start talking.”
Vladimir faithfully reported everything he’d overheard in the church earlier that evening, and by the time he’d come to the end, the pressure on his ear had been replaced by an arm around his shoulder.
“Did you recognize anyone other than Karpenko?” Polyakov asked.
“No, sir, but he mentioned the names Yuri, Mikhail, and Stefan.”
Polyakov wrote down the names before he said, “Are you going to the match on Saturday?”
“No, sir, it’s sold out, and my father wasn’t able to—”
Like a conjuror, the KGB chief produced two tickets out of an inside pocket and handed them to his latest recruit.
“Thank you, sir,” said Vladimir, beaming.
The KGB chief opened the front door and added, “And one more thing, Vladimir, make sure you don’t tell anyone where you got them.”
2
KONSTANTIN CLOSED THE bedroom door quietly, not wanting to wake his wife. He took off his heavy boots. If he left early enough in the morning, he wouldn’t have to explain to Elena what he and his disciples had been up to, and even more important, what he had in mind for Saturday’s meeting. Better she thought that he’d been out drinking even had a mistress, rather than tell her the truth. Konstantin knew his wife would only try to convince him not to go ahead with the planned speech.
After all, they didn’t have too bad a life, he could hear her reminding him. They lived in an apartment block that had electricity and running water. She had a job as a cook at the officers’ club, and their son was waiting to hear if he’d won a scholarship to the prestigious foreign language school in Moscow. What more could they ask for?
That one day everyone could take privileges like that for granted, Konstantin would have told her.
He lay awake that night, penning a speech in his mind that he couldn’t risk transferring to paper before he delivered his message to the three thousand dockers on Saturday morning. He rose at 5:30, and once again took care not to wake his wife. He doused his face in freezing water, but didn’t shave. He dressed in overalls and a rough, open-necked shirt before finally pulling on his well-worn hobnailed boots. He crept out of the bedroom and collected his lunch box from the kitchen: a hard-boiled egg, two slices of bread, and cheese. Only members of the KGB would eat better.
He closed the front door quietly behind him as he left the flat and made his way slowly down the well-worn stone staircase before stepping out onto an empty street. He always walked the six kilometers to work, eschewing the overloaded bus that ferried the workers to and from the docks. If he hoped to survive beyond Saturday, he needed to remain fit, like a highly trained soldier in the field.
Whenever he passed a fellow worker in the street, Konstantin always acknowledged him with a mock salute. Some returned his salutation, others nodded, while a few, like bad Samaritans, looked the other way. They may as well have had their party numbers tattooed on their foreheads.
Konstantin arrived outside the dock gates an hour later and immediately clocked on. As works convener, he liked to be the first to arrive and the last to leave. He walked along the dockside while he considered his first assignment of the day. A submarine destined for Odessa in the Black Sea had just berthed at dock 11 for refueling and to pick up provisions, before continuing on its way, but that wouldn’t be for at least another hour. Only the most trusted men would be allowed anywhere near dock 11 that morning.
Konstantin’s mind drifted back to the previous night’s meeting. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Was it someone and not something, he wondered, as a vast crane at the far end of the dock began to lift its heavy load and swing slowly toward the waiting submarine on dock 11.
The operator seated in the crane’s cab had been chosen carefully. He could unload a tank into a hold with only inches to spare on either side. But not today. Today he was transferring barrels of oil to a submarine that needed to remain submerged for several days at a time, but the task also demanded pinpoint accuracy. One piece of luck, no wind that morning.
Konstantin tried to concentrate as he went over his speech once again. As long as none of his colleagues opened their mouths, he felt confident everything else would fall neatly into place. He smiled to himself.
The crane operator was satisfied that he had judged it to an inch. The load was perfectly balanced and still. He eased a long, heavy lever gently forward. The large clamp sprang open and the three barrels of oil were released. They came crashing down onto the dockside moments later. Inch perfect. Konstantin Karpenko had looked up, but it was too late. He was killed instantly. A dreadful accident, for which no one was to blame. The man knew he must disappear quickly before the men clocked in for the early shift. He swung the crane’s outstretched arm quickly back into place, turned off the engine, climbed out of the cab, and began to make his way down the ladder to the ground.
Three fellow workers were waiting for him as he stepped onto the dockside. He smiled at his comrades, not spotting the six-inch serrated blade before it was thrust deep into his stomach and then twisted. The other two held him down until he finally stopped whimpering. They bound his arms and legs before pushing him over the side and into the water. He reappeared three times, before finally disappearing below the surface. The operator hadn’t officially signed in that morning, so it would be some time before anyone noticed he was missing.
* * *
Konstantin Karpenko’s funeral was held at the Church of the Apostle Andrew, and the turnout was so large that the congregation spilled out onto the street, long before the choir had entered.
The bishop who delivered the eulogy described Konstantin’s death as a tragic accident, but then he was probably among the few people who believed the official communiqué issued by the docks commandant, and only then after it had been sanctioned by Moscow.
Seated near the front of the packed pews were eleven men who knew it wasn’t an accident, and the promise of a thorough investigation by the KGB wouldn’t help their cause, because they had lost their leader, and state inquiries usually took at least a couple of years to report their findings, by which time their moment would ha
ve passed.
Only family and close friends circled the grave to pay their last respects. Elena wept as the body of her husband was lowered slowly into the ground, and Alexander held on to his mother’s hand, something he hadn’t done for many years. He was suddenly aware that, despite his youth, he was now the head of the family.
He looked up to see Vladimir, who he hadn’t spoken to since his father’s death, half hidden at the back of the gathering. When their eyes met, his best friend quickly looked away. His father’s words flashed into Alexander’s mind. He’s cunning and ruthless. Believe me he’d shop his mother for a ticket to the cup final, probably even the semifinal. Vladimir hadn’t been able to resist telling Alexander he’d got two stand seats for the match on Saturday, although he wouldn’t say who had given them to him, or what he’d had to do to get them.
Alexander could only wonder just how far Vladimir would go to make sure he was offered a place at the state university, his only chance of being accepted by the KGB. He realized in that instant that he was no longer his friend. After a few moments Vladimir scurried away, like Judas in the night. He’d done everything except kiss Alexander’s father on the cheek.
Elena and Alexander remained kneeling by the graveside long after everyone else had departed. When she finally rose, Elena couldn’t help wondering what Konstantin must have done to cause such wrath. Only the most brainwashed party member accepted the official story the KGB were peddling, that after the tragic accident occurred, the crane operator had committed suicide. Even General Secretary Leonid had joined in the deception, when a Kremlin spokesman announced that Konstantin Karpenko had been made a Hero of the Soviet Union, and his widow would receive a full state pension.
Elena had already turned her full attention to the other man in her life. She had decided she would move to Moscow, find a job, and do everything in her power to advance her son’s career. But after a long discussion with her brother Niko, Elena had reluctantly accepted that she would have to remain in Leningrad, and try to carry on as if nothing had happened. She would be lucky even to hold on to her present job, because the KGB had tentacles that stretched far beyond her irrelevant existence.
* * *
On Saturday, in the semifinal of the Soviet Cup, Leningrad beat Odessa 2–1, and qualified to play Torpedo Moscow in the final.
Vladimir was already trying to work out what he would have to do to get a ticket.
3
ELENA WOKE EARLY, still not used to sleeping alone. Once she’d given Alexander his breakfast and packed him off to school, she tidied the flat, put on her coat, and left for work. Like Konstantin, she preferred to walk to the docks as it gave her a chance to clear her head.
She thought about the death of the only man she’d ever loved. What were they hiding from her? Why wouldn’t anyone tell her the truth? She would have to pick the right moment and ask her brother, who she felt sure knew far more than he was willing to admit. And then Elena thought about her son, whose exam results, were due any day now.
She finally thought about work and a job she couldn’t afford to lose while Alexander was still at school. Was the state pension a hint that they no longer wanted her around? Did her presence continually remind everyone how her husband had died? But she was good at her job, which was why she worked in the officers’ club and not in the docks canteen.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Karpenko,” said the guard on the gate as she clocked in.
“Thank you,” said Elena.
As she walked through the docks several workers doffed their caps and greeted her with a “good morning,” once again reminding her just how popular her husband had been.
After Elena had entered the back door of the officers’ club, she hung up her coat, put on an apron, and went straight through to the kitchen. She checked the lunch menu, the first thing she did every morning. Vegetable soup and rabbit pie. It must be Friday. She began to prepare both dishes, just as she did every day. First she inspected the meat, three rabbits that would need to be skinned, and then there were vegetables to be sliced and potatoes to be peeled.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and she turned around to see Mr. Novak, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“It was a wonderful service,” her supervisor said. “But no more than Konstantin deserved.” Someone else who obviously knew the truth, but wasn’t willing to voice it. Elena thanked him, and didn’t stop working until the siren sounded to announce the mid-morning break. She hung up her apron and joined Olga in the yard. Her friend was enjoying the other half of yesterday’s cigarette, and passed the stub across to Elena.
“It’s been one hell of a week,” said Olga, “but we’ve all played our part in making sure you didn’t lose your job. I personally was responsible for yesterday’s lunch being a disaster,” she continued, after inhaling deeply. “The soup was cold, the meat was overcooked, the vegetables were soggy, and someone forgot to make any gravy. The officers were all asking when you would be back.”
“Thank you,” said Elena, wanting to hug her friend, but the buzzer sounded again.
* * *
Alexander had cried at his father’s funeral, for the first time in years. So when she arrived home after work that night, and found Alexander sobbing, she realized it could only be one thing.
She sat down on the kitchen bench next to her son and placed an arm around his shoulder.
“Winning a scholarship was never that important,” she said. “Just being offered a place at the foreign language school is in itself a great honor.”
“But I haven’t been offered a place anywhere,” he said.
“Not even to study math at the state university?”
Alexander shook his head. “I’ve been ordered to report to the docks on Monday morning, when I’ll be allocated to a gang.”
“Never!” said Elena. “I shall protest.”
“And it will fall on deaf ears, Mama. They’ve already made it clear that I don’t have any choice.”
“And what about your friend Vladimir? Will he also be joining you on the docks?”
“No. He’s been offered a place at the state university. He starts in September.”
“But you beat him in every subject.”
“Except treachery,” said Alexander.
* * *
When Major Polyakov strolled into the kitchen just before lunch the following day, he leered at Elena as if she were on the menu. The major was no taller than Elena, but must have been twice her weight, which was, Olga reminded her, a tribute to her cooking. Polyakov held the title of Head of Security, but everyone knew he was KGB and didn’t bother to report to the dock commandant, but directly to Moscow, so even his fellow officers were wary of him.
It wasn’t too long before the leer turned into a close inspection of her cooking, and while other officers occasionally came in to sample a tidbit, his hands ran down her back, coming to rest on her bottom, and moments later he pressed himself up against her.
“See you after lunch,” he whispered before leaving the kitchen to join his fellow officers in the dining room. Elena was relieved to see him rushing out of the building an hour later, and he didn’t return before she clocked off, but she feared it could only be a matter of time.
* * *
Niko dropped into the kitchen to see his sister at the end of the day, she gave him a blow-by-blow account of what she’d had to endure earlier that afternoon.
“There’s nothing any of us can do about Polyakov,” said Niko. “That is if we hope to keep our jobs. While Konstantin was still alive he wouldn’t have dared lay a hand on you, but now … there’s nothing to stop him adding you to a long list of conquests who would never complain. You only have to ask your friend Olga.”
“I don’t need to, but something Olga let slip today made me realize she knows why Konstantin was killed, and who was responsible. As she’s obviously too frightened to say a word, perhaps it’s time you told me the truth.”
“It was a tragic accident,”
said Niko, putting a finger to his lips.
Elena turned on all the taps before she whispered, “Is your life also in danger?” Her brother nodded. “Is there nothing I can do about it?”
He shook his head and left the kitchen without another word.
* * *
Elena lay in bed that night thinking about her husband, part of her still unwilling to accept that he wasn’t alive. It didn’t help that Alexander had worshiped his father, and had always tried so hard to live up to his impossible standards. Standards that must have been the reason Konstantin had sacrificed his life, and at the same time condemned his son to spend the rest of his days as a dock laborer.
Elena had hoped their son would join the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and that she would live long enough to see him be appointed an ambassador. But it was not to be. If brave men aren’t willing to take risks for what they believe in, Konstantin had once told her, nothing will ever change. Elena only wished her husband had been more of a coward. But then, if he had been, perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen so helplessly in love with him.
Elena’s brother Niko had been his second in command on the docks, but Polyakov clearly didn’t consider Niko a threat, because he kept his job as chief loader after Karpenko’s “tragic accident.” What Polyakov couldn’t know was that Niko hated the KGB even more than his brother-in-law had, and although he appeared to quickly fall in line, he was already planning his own form of revenge, which wouldn’t involve making impassioned speeches, although it would take every bit as much courage.
* * *
Elena was surprised to see her brother waiting for her outside the dock gates when she clocked off from work on Monday afternoon.