Tell Tale

by Jeffrey Archer

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” she said.

  “You may not think so when you hear what I’ve got to say,” said Niko.

  “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, and they’re always the worst, 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 has 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,” said Niko, “and they know it.”

  “But what can I do about it when he doesn’t listen to me any longer?”

  They walked in silence for a while before Niko spoke again, and then not until he was certain no passerby could overhear him. “I may have come up with a solution,” said Niko, “but I can’t hope to pull it off without your full cooperation.” He paused. “And Alexander’s.”

  * * *

  If Elena’s problems weren’t bad enough at home, they were becoming worse at work, as the major’s advances became less and less subtle. She had considered pouring boiling water over his wandering hands, but the consequences didn’t bear worth thinking about.

  It must have been about a week later, as Elena was tidying up the kitchen before returning home, that Polyakov staggered in, clearly drunk. He began to unbutton his trousers as he advanced toward her. Just as he was about to place a sweaty hand on her breast, a junior officer rushed in saying that the commandant needed to see him urgently. Polyakov couldn’t hide his anger, and as he left, hissed at Elena, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back later.” Elena was so frightened, she didn’t move for over an hour. But the moment the buzzer finally sounded, she pulled on her coat and was among the first to clock off.

  When her brother joined Elena for supper that evening, she begged him to go over his plan.

  “I thought you said it was far too great a risk?”

  “I did,” said Elena, “but that was before I realized I can no longer avoid Polyakov’s advances.”

  “You told me you could even bear that as long as Alexander never found out.”

  “But if he did,” said Elena quietly, “can you imagine the repercussions? So, tell me what you have in mind, because I’ll consider anything.”

  Niko leaned forward and poured himself a shot of vodka before he began to take her slowly through his plan. “As you know, several foreign vessels enter the dock to unload their cargo every week, and we are expected to turn them around as quickly as possible, so any waiting ships can take their place. That’s my job.”

  “But how will that help us?” asked Elena.

  “Once a ship has unloaded its goods, the loading process begins, and because not everyone wants bags of salt or cases of vodka, several vessels leave the port empty-handed.” Elena remained silent while her brother continued. “There are two ships due in on Friday, which, after they’ve discharged their cargo, will leave on the Saturday afternoon tide with several empty holds. You and Alexander could be hidden in one of them.”

  “But if we were caught we could end up on a cattle train to Siberia.”

  “That’s why this Saturday is so important,” said Niko. “Because for once the odds will be stacked in our favor.”

  “How come?” said Elena.

  “Leningrad are playing Torpedo Moscow in the final of the Soviet Cup at the national stadium, and almost all of the officers will be sitting in a box supporting Torpedo, while most of my fellow workers will be cheering on the home side from the terraces. There’ll be a three-hour window we could take advantage of. So by the time the final whistle blows, you and Alexander could be on your way to a new life.”

  “In Siberia?”

  4

  THEY NEVER LEFT for the docks in the morning at the same time, and they didn’t return home together at night. When they were at work, there was no reason for their paths to cross, and they made sure they never did. In the evening, they didn’t discuss what they were planning until Alexander had gone to bed, and then they talked of little else.

  By Friday evening, they’d gone over everything they imagined could go wrong again and again, although Elena was convinced something would trip them up at the last moment. She didn’t sleep that night, but then she hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours for the past month.

  Niko told her that because of the cup final, almost all the dockers had opted for the early shift on Saturday morning, six until midday, so once the noon siren had blasted, the docks would only be manned by a skeleton crew.

  “And I’ve already told Alexander I wasn’t able to get him a ticket, so he’s reluctantly signed up for the afternoon shift.”

  “When will you tell him?” asked Elena.

  “Not until the last moment. Think like the KGB. They don’t even tell themselves.”

  Mr. Novak had already said that Elena could take Saturday off, because he doubted if any of the officers would bother to come in for lunch, as they wouldn’t want to miss the kickoff.

  “I’ll just pop in during the morning,” she told her supervisor. “After all, they might not all be football fans. But I’ll leave around midday if no one turns up.”

  Uncle Niko did manage to pick up a couple of spare tickets on the terraces, but what he didn’t tell Alexander was that he’d already sacrificed them to make sure his deputy loader and the chief crane operator wouldn’t be around on Saturday afternoon.

  * * *

  When Alexander came into the kitchen for breakfast on Saturday morning, there was only one thought on his mind, and even before he’d sat down, he asked Niko if he’d managed to get hold of a spare ticket at the last moment. He was puzzled by his reply.

  “You’ll be playing in a far more important match this afternoon. It’s also against Moscow, and one you can’t afford to lose.”

  Alexander sat in silence as his uncle took him through what he and his mother had been planning for the past week. Elena had already agreed with her brother that if Alexander didn’t want to be involved, for whatever reason, the whole exercise would be called off. She needed to be convinced that he wasn’t in any doubt about the risks they were taking. Niko even offered him a bribe to make sure he was fully committed.

  “I did manage to get a ticket for the match,” he said, waving it in the air, “so if you’d rather—”

  He and Elena watched the young man carefully to see how he would react. “To hell with the match,” he said. “We might never get a better chance to escape from those bastards who killed my father.”

  “Then that’s settled,” said Niko. “But you have to understand I won’t be coming with you.”

  “Then you can count me out,” said Alexander, jumping up from his father’s old chair. “Because we’re not leaving you behind to face the music.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to,” said Niko. “If you and your mother are to have any chance of getting away, one of us has to stay behind and cover your tracks. It’s no more than your father would have wanted.”

  “But—” began Alexander.

  “No buts. If we’re to succeed, I must get going and join the morning shift so everyone will assume that, like them, I’ll be at the game this afternoon.”

  “But won’t they become suspicious when no one remembers seeing you at the match?”

  “Not if I get my timing right,” said Niko. “The second half should begin around four o’clock, by which time I’ll be watching the match with the rest of the lads, and by then, with a bit of luck, you’ll be well outside territorial waters. Just make sure you report for the afternoon shift on time and, for a change, do whatever your supervisor tells you.” Alexander grinned as his uncle stood up and gave his nephew a bear hug. “Make your father proud of you,” he said before leaving.

  As
Niko stepped out of the flat he spotted Alexander’s friend coming down the stairs.

  “Have you got a ticket for the match, Mr. Obolsky?” he asked, waving his.

  “Yes I have,” said Niko. “In the north end terrace with the rest of the lads. So I’ll see you there.”

  “Afraid not,” said Vladimir. “I’m in the west stand.”

  “Lucky boy,” said Niko, and although tempted he didn’t ask what he’d had to do in return for his ticket.

  “What about Alexander, did he manage to get one?”

  “No such luck. He’s having to work the afternoon shift, and I can tell you, he’s pretty fed up to be missing the cup final.”

  “Tell him I’ll drop by this evening and give him a blow-by-blow account.”

  “That’s good of you, Vladimir. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Enjoy the game.”

  * * *

  Once Niko had left for the docks, Alexander still had a dozen more questions for his mother, some of which she couldn’t answer, including which country they would be going to.

  “Two ships will be sailing on the afternoon tide around three o’clock,” said Elena, “but we won’t know which one Uncle Niko has chosen until the last moment.”

  It quickly became clear to Elena that Alexander had already forgotten about the football match as he began to pace excitedly around the room, preoccupied only by the thought of escaping. His mother looked anxiously on. “It’s not a game, Alexander,” she said firmly. “If we’re caught, your uncle will be shot, and we would be transported to a Russian gulag, where you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you’d gone to the match. So it’s still not too late for you to change your mind.”

  “I know what my father would have done,” said Alexander.

  “Then you’d better go and get ready,” said his mother.

  Alexander returned to his room without another word while Elena packed the lunch box he took to work every morning. On this occasion it wasn’t filled with food, but with all the notes and coins she and Konstantin had scraped together over the years, a few pieces of jewelry of little value, other than her mother’s engagement ring, which they just might be able to sell once they landed in a strange country, and a Russian–English dictionary. How she now wished she’d spent more time learning English. She then packed her own small suitcase, which she hoped wouldn’t attract attention when she turned up for work later that morning. The problem was deciding what to pack and what to leave behind. Every photo of Konstantin and the family became her first priority, followed by one change of clothes and a bar of soap. She also managed to squeeze in a brush and comb before forcing the lid closed. Alexander had wanted to take his copy of War and Peace, but his mother had assured him he’d be able to get a copy wherever they landed.

  Alexander was desperate to get going, but Elena wasn’t willing to leave a moment too soon, after Niko had warned her they couldn’t afford to draw attention to themselves by arriving at the dock gates before the hooter sounded at twelve. They finally left the flat just after eleven, Elena taking a circuitous route where they were unlikely to run into anyone they knew. They arrived outside the dockyard entrance at a few minutes past twelve, to face a stampede of workers heading in the opposite direction.

  Alexander battled his way through the advancing army, while his mother, head bowed, followed in his wake. Once they’d clocked in, Elena reminded her son: “The hooter will go at two for the mid-afternoon break, then we’ll have twenty minutes, no more, so make sure you join me at the officers’ club as quickly as possible.”

  Alexander nodded, and they both went their separate ways. He to dock 6 to start the afternoon shift, she in the opposite direction. Once Elena reached the back door of the club, she opened it cautiously, poked her head inside, and listened intently. Not a sound.

  Elena hung up her coat and made her way through to the kitchen. She was surprised to find Olga sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, something she would never have considered if an officer had been on the premises. Elena smiled. Olga told her that even Mr. Novak had left moments after the siren had sounded at midday. She blew out a cloud of smoke, her idea of rebellion.

  “Why don’t I cook us both a meal?” said Elena, putting on her apron. “Then we can eat our lunch sitting down for a change, as if we were officers.”

  “And there’s half a bottle of that Albanian red left over from yesterday’s lunch,” said Olga, “so we can even drink to the bastards’ health.”

  Elena laughed for the first time that day, and then set about preparing what she hoped would be her last meal in Leningrad.

  At one o’clock, Olga and Elena went into the dining room and laid the officers’ table, putting out the best cutlery and two linen napkins. She then poured two glasses of red wine and took a sip. Elena was about to take a sip from her glass when the door burst open and Major Polyakov strode in.

  “Your lunch is prepared, Comrade Major,” said Olga, not missing a beat. He looked at the two wine glasses suspiciously. “Will anyone be joining you?” she added quickly.

  “No, they’re all at the match so I will be dining alone,” said Polyakov before turning to face Elena. “And be sure you don’t leave before I’ve finished my lunch, Comrade Karpenko.”

  “Of course not, Comrade Major,” Elena replied. The two women scurried back into the kitchen.

  “That can only mean one thing,” said Olga as Elena filled a bowl with hot fish soup.

  Olga took the first course through to Polyakov and placed it on the table. As she turned to leave, he said, “Once you’ve served the main course, you can take the rest of the day off.”

  “Thank you, Comrade Major, but one of my duties after you’ve left is to clear up—”

  “Immediately after you’ve served the main course,” he repeated, before picking up his soup spoon. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Comrade Major.” Olga returned to the kitchen and once the door was closed told her friend what Polyakov had demanded. “I’d do anything I can to help,” she added, “but I daren’t cross the bastard.” Elena said nothing as she filled a plate with rabbit stew, turnips, and mashed potato. “But you could always go home now,” said Olga, “and I’ll tell him you weren’t feeling well.”

  “I can’t,” said Elena, as she watched Olga undo the top two buttons of her blouse. “Thank you,” she added, “you’re a good friend, but I fear he wants to sample a new dish.” She passed the plate across to Olga.

  “I’d happily kill him,” Olga said, before returning to the dining room.

  The major had already pushed his empty soup bowl to one side by the time she placed the plate of hot stew in front of him.

  “If you’re still on the premises by the time I’ve finished,” he said, “you’ll be serving the scum in the works canteen on Monday.”

  Olga returned to the kitchen, surprised by how calm her friend appeared to be, even though she couldn’t be in any doubt what was about to happen. But then, Elena couldn’t tell her why she was willing to endure even that if it meant she and her son would be able to escape from his clutches.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Olga, as she slipped on her coat, “but there’s nothing I can do about it. See you on Monday,” she added, before giving Elena a longer than usual hug.

  “Let’s hope not,” mouthed Elena as Olga closed the door behind her. She was just about to turn off the stove when she heard the dining-room door open behind her. She turned to see the major walking slowly toward her, still chewing a last mouthful of stew. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before unbuttoning a jacket that was covered in medals that hadn’t been won on any battlefield. He unbuckled his belt and placed it on the table beside his pistol, then kicked off his boots before starting to unbutton his trousers, which in turn fell to the floor. He stood there, no longer able to hide the rolls of surplus flesh that were usually disguised beneath a well-tailored uniform.

  “There are two ways we can do this,” said the KGB chief, as he continued w
alking toward her until their bodies were almost touching, “but I’ll leave the choice to you.”

  Elena forced a smile, wanting to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. She took off her apron and began to unbutton her blouse.

  Polyakov smirked as he clumsily fondled her breasts. “You’re just like the rest of them,” he said as he began to push her toward the table while trying to kiss her at the same time. Elena could smell his stinking breath and turned her head so their lips didn’t touch. She felt his stubby fingers fumbling under her skirt, but this time she didn’t resist, staring blankly over his shoulder as a sweaty hand moved up the inside of her thigh.

  He shoved her up against the table, lifted her skirt, and thrust her legs apart. Elena closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She could feel his panting breath on her neck, and prayed it would be over quickly.

  The two o’clock siren sounded, and she let out a sigh of relief. “I haven’t finished yet, bitch,” Polyakov said, and in one swift movement forced her down on her knees.

  Elena looked up when she heard the door on the far side of the room open. She stared in horror as her son came charging toward them. Polyakov turned around, pushed Elena quickly to one side, and reached for his gun, but the young man was now only a yard away. Alexander lifted the pot off the stove, and hurled the remains of the hot stew in his face. The major staggered back, and as he fell on the floor delivered a stream of invective that Elena feared would be heard on the far side of the yard.

  “You’ll hang for this,” Polyakov yelled as he grabbed the edge of the table and tried to pull himself up. But before he could utter another word, Alexander swung the base of the iron pot straight into his face and Polyakov collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Mother and son didn’t move as they stared in horror at their fallen adversary.

  Alexander was the first to recover. He picked up Polyakov’s tie from the floor and bound his hands behind his back then grabbed a napkin from the table and stuffed it in his mouth. Elena hadn’t moved. She was just staring ahead, as if paralyzed.