“Then we’ll meet again on Saturday morning. Until then we must remain silent, and keep our counsel.”
Vladimir’s heart was thumping as the men shook hands with each other, one by one, before leaving the church. He didn’t move until he finally heard the great west door slam shut, and a key turn in the lock. He then scurried back to the vestry, and with the help of a stool, wriggled out of the window, clinging to the ledge before dropping 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, toward a street that didn’t need a NO ENTRY sign, as only party officials ever considered entering Tereshkova Prospect. He knew exactly where Major Polyakov lived, but wondered if he had the nerve to knock on his 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, Vladimir 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, and was about to knock when it was flung open by a man who didn’t like to be taken by surprise.
“What do you want, boy?” the major demanded, grabbing his unwelcome visitor 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 the boy’s ear as he dragged him inside. He slammed the door behind him. “Start talking.”
Vladimir faithfully reported everything he’d overheard in the church. By the time he’d come to the end, the pressure on his ear had been replaced by an arm around his shoulder.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 Stepan.”
Polyakov wrote down each name before saying, “Are you going to the match on Saturday?”
“No, sir, it’s sold out, and my father wasn’t able to—”
Like a conjurer, the KGB chief produced a ticket from an inside pocket and handed it to his latest recruit.
* * *
Konstantin closed the bedroom door quietly, not wanting to wake his wife. He took off his heavy boots, undressed, and climbed into bed. 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 planned for Saturday’s meeting. Better she thought he’d been out drinking, even that there was another woman, than burden her with the truth. He knew she would only try to convince him not to go ahead with the prepared 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 her job as a cook at the officers’ club, and Alexander 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 such privileges for granted, Konstantin would have told her.
He lay awake, composing a speech in his mind that he couldn’t risk committing to paper. He rose at five thirty, and once again took care not to wake his wife. He doused his face in freezing water, but didn’t shave, then dressed in overalls and a rough, open-neck 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 sausage, a hard-boiled egg, an onion, and two slices of bread and cheese. Only members of the KGB would eat better.
He closed the front door quietly behind him and made his way down the stone stairs before stepping out onto the empty street. He always walked the six kilometers to work, avoiding the overloaded bus that ferried the workers to and from the docks. If he hoped to survive beyond Saturday, he needed to be 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 clocked on. As works supervisor, 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 on the Black Sea had just berthed at dock 11 to refuel and 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 hadn’t felt 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 ship’s 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 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 was confident everything 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 waited just one more moment before he eased a long heavy lever gently forward. The large clamp sprang open and three barrels of oil were released. They crashed down onto the dockside. 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 in the cab knew he had to disappear before the early shift clocked on. He swung the crane’s arm 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 until it was thrust deep into his stomach and then twisted several times. The other two men held him down until he finally stopped whimpering. They bound his arms and legs together before pushing him over the side of the dock and into the water. He reappeared three times, before finally disappearing below the surface. He hadn’t officially signed on 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. The turnout was so large that the congregation spilled out onto the street, long before the choir had entered the nave.
The bishop who delivered the eulogy described Konstantin’s death as a tragic accident. But then, he was probably one of the few people who believed the official communiqué issued by the dock commandant, and only then after it had been sanctioned by Moscow.
Standing near the front were twelve men who knew it wasn’t an accident. They had lost their leader, and the promise of a thorough investigation by the KGB wouldn’t help their cause, because state inquiries usually took at least a couple of years to report their findings, by which time their moment would have passed.
Only family and close friends stood beside the grave to pay their last respects. Elena sprinkled some earth onto the coffin as the body of her husband was lowered slowly into the ground. Alexander forced himself to hold back the tears. She wept but stepped back and held her son’s hand, something she hadn’t done for years. He was suddenly aware that, despite his youth, he was now the head of the family.
He looked up to see Vladimir, whom he hadn’t spoken to since his father’s death, half hidden at the back of the gathering. When their eyes met, his best frien
d quickly looked away. His father’s words reverberated in 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 that he’d got a stand seat for the match on Saturday, although he wouldn’t say who had given it to him, or what he’d had to do to get it.
Alexander could only wonder just how far Vladimir would go to make sure he was recruited by the KGB. He realized in that instant they were no longer friends. After a few minutes 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 her husband had done to cause such wrath. Only the most brainwashed party member could have accepted the official line that after the tragic accident the crane operator had committed suicide. Even Leonid Brezhnev, the party’s General Secretary, had joined in the deception, with a Kremlin spokesman announcing that Comrade 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 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, Kolya, she 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, Zenit F.C. beat Odessa 2–1, and qualified to play Torpedo Moscow in the final.
Vladimir was already trying to work out what he needed to do to get a ticket.
2
ALEXANDER
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, and not have to repeat a thousand times, How kind of you.
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 was sure knew far more than he was willing to admit. And then she thought about her son, whose exam results were due any day now.
She finally thought about her job, which 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 when 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,” reminding her just how popular Konstantin had been.
Once she had entered the back door of the officers’ club, Elena hung up her coat, put on an apron, and went through to the kitchen. She checked the lunch menu, the first thing she did every morning. Vegetable soup and veal pie. It must be Friday. She began to inspect the meat and then there were vegetables to be sliced and potatoes to be peeled.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. Elena turned to see Comrade Akimov, 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, but 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 to Elena.
“It’s been one hell of a week,” said Olga, “but we all played our part in making sure you didn’t lose your job. I was personally responsible for yesterday’s lunch being a disaster,” she added after inhaling deeply. “The soup was cold, the meat was overcooked, the vegetables were soggy, and guess who forgot to make any gravy. The officers were all asking when you’d be back.”
“Thank you,” said Elena, wanting to hug her friend, but the siren sounded again.
* * *
Alexander hadn’t cried at his father’s funeral. So when Elena arrived home after work that night and found him sitting in the kitchen sobbing, she realized it could only be one thing.
She sat down on the bench beside him and put an arm around his shoulder.
“Winning the scholarship was never that important,” she said. “Just being offered a place at the foreign language school is a great honor in itself.”
“But I haven’t been offered a place anywhere,” said Alexander.
“Not even to study mathematics 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’ll protest.”
“It will fall on deaf ears, Mama. They’ve made it clear that I don’t have any choice.”
“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 Monday, he leered at Elena as if she were on the menu. The major was no taller than she, but must have been twice her weight, which was, Olga joked, a tribute to her cooking. Polyakov held the title of Head of Security, but everyone knew he was KGB and reported directly to the dock commandant, so even his fellow officers were wary of him.
It wasn’t long before the leer turned into a close inspection of Elena’s latest dish. While other officers would occasionally come into the kitchen to sample a tidbit, Polyakov’s hands ran down her back, coming to rest on her bottom. He pressed himself up against her. “See you after lunch,” he whispered before leaving to join his fellow officers in the dining room. Elena was relieved to see him rushing out of the building an hour later. He didn’t return before she clocked off, but she feared it could only be a matter of time.
* * *
Kolya dropped into the kitchen to see his sister at the end of the day. Elena turned on the water in the sink before she gave him a blow-by-blow account of what she’d had to endure that afternoon.
“There’s nothing any of us can do about Polyakov,” said Kolya. “Not if we want to keep our jobs. While Konstantin was 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’ll 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 must know why Konstantin was killed, and who was responsible. She’s obviously too frightened to say a word, so perhaps it’s time you told me the truth. Were you at that meeting?”
“It was a tragic accident,” said Kolya.
Elena leaned forward and whispered, “Is your life also in danger?” Her brother nodded, and left the kitchen without another word.
* * *
Elena lay in bed that night thinking about her husband. Part of her was still unwilling to accept 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 becom
e 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, Kolya, had been his third in command at the docks, but Polyakov clearly didn’t consider him a threat, because he kept his job as chief loader after Konstantin’s “tragic accident.” What Polyakov couldn’t know was that Kolya hated the KGB even more than his brother-in-law had, and although he appeared to have fallen into line, he was already planning his 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 the following afternoon.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” she said, as they began to walk home.
“You may not think so when you hear what I’ve got to say.”
“Does it concern Alexander?” asked Elena anxiously.
“I’m afraid it does. He’s begun badly. Refuses to take orders, and is openly contemptuous of the KGB. Today he told a junior officer to fuck off.” Elena shuddered. “You must tell him to knuckle down, because I won’t be able to cover for him much longer.”
“I’m afraid he’s inherited his father’s fierce independent streak,” said Elena, “without any of his discretion or wisdom.”
“And it doesn’t help that he’s brighter than everyone else around him, including the KGB officers,” said Kolya. “And they all know it.”
“But what can I do, when he doesn’t listen to me any longer?”
They walked in silence for some time before Kolya spoke again, and then not until he was certain no one could overhear them. “I may have come up with a solution. But I can’t pull it off without your full cooperation.” He paused. “And Alexander’s.”
Heads You Win Page 2
