“Hmm. The Rasputin has changed ownership,” Haffner said. “Last year. It was bought by some Russian oligarch backed outfit, apparently. But there may be some criminal connection, we think. We are still trying to get to the bottom of it.”
“Oh no--”
Anne could see that Julia’s mother was on the verge of tears, as Greg moved closer and put his arms around her. “Gospodja Saparova, it’s all right. We will find your daughter, rest assured.”
“Well, my young friend--” The old lady looked up at Greg, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “--I hope you are right. My experience is that such things usually do not end well. Certainly, not with Russian--”
“But this is Austria. The West...”
“Never mind. Russians are involved. They are meeting at that Revuebar, which you said is now owned by some oligarchs. Maybe criminals. It’s just like--”
“Yes, I guess if you are talking of my friend Adam. He went missing for a while. And you don’t know this, but some Russian arms merchants ended up corrupting him.”
“I see. But no, I don’t mean just him. Also, my older sister, Katerina. She disappeared like this many years ago, and was never found again.”
“What are you saying?” Anne asked.
“Wait, I show you. If you have a moment.”
Not waiting for an answer, Gospodja Saparova got up from the bed, and went over to the chest of drawers. She pulled out the same battered old rusty tin box from where she had extracted the letter Greg’s grandfather, András Bányai--who died after the war at Mayak, as human fodder forced to go inside the reactor to clean up a horrific nuclear accident--had asked her father to safeguard, and she had given to Adam and Greg on their visit in Ozersk.
“Here, I brought these family letters for Julia.” She could not stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. “My father wrote this one, and left it for my mother. You see, carefully marked with big black letters: ‘To open only after my death.’ You read it. The others in here, too, go ahead. They tell of the terrible degeneracy of the Stalin years. And how my family was affected.” She took out a few yellowing pieces of paper from a tattered envelope and handed them to Greg then went over to the counter to get another tissue.
Julia’s mother wiped the tears from her eyes. “I cannot even look at this without crying. Sorry. Especially now that Julia is missing too. That makes it much, much worse. You take them all, these letters--here, take the box--and read what is in there. And Greg, since you are a writer, make this horrifying story public, like you did with your family’s story, so that the world can know what depravity took place in the Soviet Union. For my sake. And Julia’s.”
“Sure, but--”
“I already showed these letters to Julia a few years ago, but if you find her, give them to her. After you read them. I don’t want them anymore.”
“Thank you, Gospodja Saparova. We will find Julia,” Greg said, carefully taking the letter and the box from the old lady’s hands. “And we will read these later, back at the hotel.”
“They have cursed my life, these letters,” the old lady said, crumbling back onto the sofa.
“I will go to the Revuebar Rasputin where Julia was supposed to meet this Kallay--or whoever is masquerading as him. That is the next step.”
“Don’t worry, Gospodja Saparova, we will find Julia,” Anne added. “She is our friend.”
“Thank you. You are good people, both of you.”
“If this Kallay gets in touch again, let us know. Here, let me write down our mobile numbers.”
“Thank you. I have no one else I can ask to help find my daughter.”
Chapter 6
The heavy-set man with the dyed-blond hair her father had paid the large sum of money to unlocked the door and pushed Nadia inside the building, just as a guard came to see what all the noise was about.
“Hello, boss. I thought it would be you. Back with the new merchandise?” the thug asked as he leered at Nadia.
Kalinsky ignored the man’s question. “Everything all right here, Ivan?”
“Yes. No problems. She is still here.”
“Good. Take this one upstairs.” The boss shoved Nadia toward the guard, nodding in the direction of an elevator with his chin. “Back where she is. I’ll be there soon.”
Ivan grabbed Nadia’s arm, squeezing it really hard. “You come with me. I don’t want no trouble.” He shoved Nadia into a spacious lift, then pushed a button with his free hand. Nadia glanced into the mirror that formed the back wall of the cubicle, and she saw a pale, frightened face looking back at her. The elevator rumbled to a stop. The guard tugged her out and along a long corridor at the end of which was another door. “Okay, honey. This is where I want you to stay put. For the boss. And no funny stuff,” Ivan said as he manhandled her into a spacious room, flicking the lights on and closing the door behind her.
Nadia rubbed her arm where the guard had gripped her and looked around in the dimly lit, sparsely furnished room: there was just one chair and a big iron-framed king-size bed with a small table beside it, on which was the only lamp that illuminated the entire space. She blinked several times as she saw that the silk sheet on the bed was all rumpled and there seemed to be someone underneath. Unsure of what to do, and very frightened, she stepped closer, saying, in barely a whisper, “Hello. Hello?”
The teenager saw that the person sleeping under the sheet was a woman, perhaps a little older than she, very beautiful, with her disheveled blonde hair spread across the pillow and long slender legs and arms protruding from under the cover. To her horror, Nadia then noticed that the blonde’s left wrist was handcuffed to one of the metal posts at the back of the bed and her face was all bruised. “Oh no,” she said to herself. “Oh my God, no!”
A sense of panic overcame her. Nadia slumped down on the chair and rested her face in her hands. She needed to take stock of her situation, figure out what she should do. Should she just tell that man Kalinsky that he could keep all the money her father had given him, but that he should let her go home? That would be a really good deal for the creep. He wouldn’t have to place her in a job, or do anything for the money. Her parents would have lost all their savings, but at least she would be free. But this was just too scary, not at all what she--or, she was sure, for that matter, her parents--had expected, and she had a bad feeling that it would not end well. Yes, definitely when Kalinsky came back, she would suggest this to him.
And then the door opened, and in walked the man himself, dressed in a comfortable jogging suit and thongs. He came straight over to where Nadia was sitting and, grabbing her under the chin, roughly pulled her to her feet, even as with his other hand he pulled a pistol out from somewhere in his attire and, pointing it at her temple, said with a smile, “Okay, my pretty one. It is now time for you to perform.”
Kalinsky stepped back as Nadia started to cry, “Please, please, just let me go home. Please!”
The brute bashed her in the chest with the pistol. “Stop that whimpering, you stupid bitch. And take your fucking clothes off. I want you naked. You should consider yourself lucky that I did not send you off with the others. We will just have a little fun here, you and me. The two of us--” Then waving the pistol and looking over at the stirring blonde, he added, “No, the three of us,” before he let out a Mephistophelean laugh.
When Nadia, who was in complete shock, remained motionless, he grabbed her by the front of her blouse and, twisting it, ripped it off her. Dropping the pistol, he pulled her against his fat body and undid her bra, throwing it on the floor, then shoved her against the wall. “Take the rest off yourself, bitch, or you will regret it.”
Trying hard to stop crying, she was terrified that this monster would kill her or hurt her even more if she did not obey. So Nadia slowly started to unbutton her skirt. She stepped out of it, as the monster yanked the sheet off the blonde girl in the bed. Nadia saw that her beautiful body was naked with several bruises and whip marks defacing it.
“Panties off.”<
br />
Nadia heard Kalinsky’s voice as if from very far away, and knew she had no choice but to do as she was told.
“Very good--” He picked the pistol up, as he looked her over. “--very nice, indeed.” Then prodding the blonde in the crotch with the gun, the creep commanded, “You, you wake up.” The semi-conscious woman uttered a groan and a whimper. Kalinsky pulled back and waved the piece at Nadia, saying, “Okay, now my dear, I want you to make love to this gorgeous wench. You know, with your tongue--down there.” He made a slurping noise with his tongue and lips as he grabbed Nadia’s hair and pushed her face between the blonde’s legs. Pistol-whipping Nadia on the buttocks, he ordered, “Lick, yes, baby, lick inside there.” And again, that Mephistophelian laugh.
Kalinsky stepped back, put the gun on the chair, then got undressed and fondled himself as he watched the teenager struggle with herself to do his bidding. When he was fully hard, he grabbed Nadia by the hair once more and shoved her aside, as he mounted the fettered blonde and had sex with her.
All Nadia could think of, was that she had to get away from here. She was beyond crying, disgusted, drained, and terrified as she slowly started to move toward her clothes, and yes, there was the gun. Could she dare? But Kalinsky was already spent and did not like what he saw as he glanced over at her. He quickly got up and grabbed the Russian teenager with his right hand, twisting her arm behind her back and pulling her into his disgusting fat stomach, as he toyed with her breast with his left.
“You sure are a looker, my dear, but you’re totally useless. We will need to teach you a few tricks.” And he laughed as he pushed her down on top of the pile of clothes, pulling his out from under her. “Now get dressed, bitch.” Kalinsky proceeded to put his jogging pants back on, and then watched with arms folded and a leer on his face as Nadia got up to put her torn clothes back on.
“On second thought, don’t. You just stay naked,” the brute said, emitting a dirty little laugh as he looked her up and down one more time and kicked her clothes under the bed. “I like you that way.”
Kalinsky grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the door, opened it, and yelled down the corridor. “Hey, Ivan, where the fuck are you, when I need you?” And as the guard approached, he shouted, “Here, take this slut and put her into the special room. I want her kept over here, separate from the others. And don’t you dare touch her, or I will castrate you myself, Ivan. We will break her in over the next few days.” He pushed Nadia toward the thug and went back in the room, closing the door behind him.
***
Ivan had a firm grip on Nadia’s wrist as they stood outside the door Kalinsky had just slammed shut. Traumatized by what she had just been through, Nadia tried to use her other hand to hide her private parts.
Ivan must have realized that she was close to a breakdown, so he let go of her. “Come on, now, the boss can be a little rough sometimes. But you’ll be all right. Anyways, what’s your name?”
Of course, this just made it all that much worse, and the tears came. Nadia’s knees started to buckle under her, so Ivan grabbed her under the arms and started leading her down the corridor.
“Come on now, sweetheart. We can’t just stay here. I gotta get you into that room, like the boss said, and then go downstairs to my post.”
The guard slowly led Nadia along the hall and stopped outside two doors, one on either side. He took some keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door on the left, switching a light on. “Now, don’t worry, you’ll be all right in here.”
But when Nadia finally blinked her eyes clear of the tears, she recoiled in horror at what she saw. A low cage in the far corner. A bloodstained table in the center of the room, and various whips and chains and other implements of torture hanging from the ceiling and the walls.
“Please, please--don’t hurt me,” was all she could say.
“It’s okay. You’ll be fine in here. Come on, I gotta put you in this--” Ivan said, guiding her toward the cage. He pushed her inside, closing the bars shut and then securing the lock, as Nadia collapsed on the floor, and involuntarily folded her body into the fetal position. Through her tears she could see that the man called Ivan stood there for a while, shaking his head, watching her tremble and listening to the strange sounds she was emitting, punctuated by her sobs.
She did hear him murmur to himself, as if very far away, “Poor girl. Gosh, the same age as my sister. Tamara. Horrible.” And then, as he turned off the light and shut the door, “ Oh well...”
Chapter 7
Back in their room at the Sacher, sitting on the bed beside Greg, Anne carefully opened the folded, stuck together pages of the letter pulled from the box by Gospodja Saparova, and started translating.
My dearest Ludmilla!
Now that I am no longer with you, I want to unburden myself of the terrible secret I have kept to myself all these years since our eldest daughter, Katerina, vanished into thin air. I know, in some ways, I have wronged you by keeping what I knew from you, but I only did so because I thought that knowing the truth would have killed you, and I could not stand losing you as well. Sometimes, living with uncertainty is better than knowing a horrible certainty.
Remember, Ludmilla, after Katerina did not come home from school that fateful February afternoon in 1950, we were at our wits end, and went to great lengths to try to discover what had happened to her. The next day, when, totally despondent, we went to her school, they knew nothing, and no one there wanted to talk about her disappearance. The last person who saw her was Natasha, who had hugged her outside their apartment bloc, her friend said, as Katerina continued on her way. The authorities were also no help, claiming they had no clues, no trace of her. They tried to dismiss us by telling us that, no doubt, she just ran away, but would be back in a few days. This often was the case with teenage girls, they said. As if they would know!
It was her other good friend, Irina, who sought me out several days later. She felt terrible, she said, and was very nervous. Irina told me that there had been a similar disappearance at the end of the previous scholastic year that the school had tried to hush up. But she knew, because she had been friends with the girl, Tanya. After Tanya vanished without a trace, Irina had overheard her parents say one night that “no doubt it was that pervert Beria who was behind it all,” and she told me that that she and Katerina had talked about this. Why her parents had surmised this, she did not know, and why Katerina did not tell us about Tanya is also a mystery to me, since she told us about most things in her life. And certainly the important things at school.
I went to talk to Irina’s parents, but either because they were good party loyalists, or just very afraid, they claimed they had never intimated such a thing about the exalted man. And, that they would punish their daughter for spreading false rumors. In fact, they were shocked that I would repeat something like that, and I had better watch out because they might very well report me. I knew this was not an avenue that would lead me anywhere.
I made an appointment to see the boss, Kurchatov, and asked him if he might know anything of Katerina’s disappearance, or at the least, if he could help us by asking around. Of course, he said he was very sorry that our daughter was gone, but he knew nothing. He also repeated the platitude that teenage girls often run away, and it usually takes some time to find them. Again, I did not take this for an answer, and pressed him for more. But when I broached the subject of whether Beria might know, Kurchatov became angry and defensive, and said to me never to dare suggest anything like that, or we would all be killed or sent to the gulag.
I was sure though, that I was on the right track. I was certain that Beria was somehow the key to Katerina’s disappearance. So I spent most evenings after work--when, I told you that year, 1950, that I had to stay late almost every night--outside Beria’s villa waiting and watching to see if I could catch a glimpse of our daughter. Or, if not, at least to see who was going in and out of the villa. But no sign of Katerina.
Eventually, I figured that my b
est approach might be to single out one of the guards who came and went--the one that seemed most sympathetic--and ask them if they knew anything of our daughter. I was in luck, though, because a few months after I started my watch, Andrei--you know, Andrei Siderov, my friend at work--bragged to me that his sister had just been promoted to head cook at the Beria house, and that her husband was chief of Beria’s security there.
So that made things a bit easier. I met with Andrei’s sister and implored her to help a poor distraught father. I showed her pictures, and described Katerina to her in detail. I tried to get this Gospodja Lenkova to put herself in your position, my dearest--the mother of a daughter who had vanished without a trace. It was this sister of Andrei who finally took pity on me and told me that she might have seen a girl who looked like Katerina in one of the many corridors inside the house, but she would say no more. I pleaded with her to try and find out what she could.
Fortunately, there is still a modicum of human decency left in a few Russians. Five evenings later I collared her again on her way home from work, asking, “Gospodja Lenkova, do you have anything, anything for me?” She became ashen-faced when she saw me, and looked around furtively. “Gospodin Pleshkov, please, not now. I cannot talk to you. But meet me in Lenin Park on Sunday at three p.m. I will be there, sitting on a bench reading a newspaper, waiting for you. Just sit down on the other side of the bench and I will tell you all that I know.”
So I did meet her in Lenin Park. And between heartfelt sobs, Gospodja Lenkova told me the horrid tale of what befell our daughter.
“Gospodin Pleshkov,” she started, “I am really sorry for you and your wife. I am sorry I am the one who has to tell you this, but you must know the truth. I have shamed my husband to tell me everything he knows about what the monster we work for does in his spare time when he is here. And he, too, is very, very sorry, and will try to make amends. But he does not have the courage to look you in the face. Not now. It is too horrible.”
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