Motherland

by G. D. Abson

  ‘Boss, what’s going on? I don’t like it.’

  ‘Nor do I.’ She glanced at his waist but couldn’t see Rogov’s Makarov for his belly. ‘Are you armed?’

  ‘Yeah, boss.’

  ‘Good.’

  Dahl walked ahead with Zena sauntering behind – unwilling to join her father or fall back to them. The road climbed as they approached a bridge. Pine trees that had been at ground level fell away until they drew near the tips of their crowns. She watched Dahl jog across the tarmac then stop where the bank met the road again.

  They caught up to him. ‘What is it, Thorsten?’ she asked.

  He clasped a hand to his forehead and looked to the river’s edge. ‘There,’ he said, as much to himself, pointing to an area of thick undergrowth.

  Dahl started lowering himself down the embankment. Zena stood at the top watching him. A few metres behind, Rogov offered Natalya one of his Winstons; she took it.

  ‘Boss, we should leave him. He might be going for a shit.’

  They smoked as Dahl clambered down, clinging onto shrubs and saplings for support. He reached the bottom then looked up at them expectantly, beckoning them with his arm.

  ‘Oh crap, he wants us,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll wait up here, boss – if you don’t mind.’

  Having seen Rogov’s poor attempt to master a few flights of stairs, she didn’t mind at all. ‘Keep your gun ready. If anyone comes near, be prepared for trouble.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette and offered a hand to Zena. Together, they gripped the foliage as Dahl had done, and lowered themselves down.

  ‘Thorsten,’ she called out. ‘Wait for us.’

  The day’s rain had turned the slope to mud and they struggled to stay upright. Zena slipped and Natalya cried out after straining her shoulders to grab the girl’s arm.

  ‘Thorsten, what are you doing? This is crazy.’

  They reached the bottom and she scraped the edges of her shoes against a rock to remove the cloying earth. Dahl was ten metres away, he had found a branch and was using it like a machete to clear a path through the foliage. They trailed after him reluctantly.

  ‘It’s still here,’ Dahl called. His eyes were wild and there was something close to madness in them.

  His hand rested on the roof of a car that had rusted a vivid orange with age. Now she was near, she could see he was crying openly. It made her feel more Russian than she had in a long time, and she fought against the desire to slap him for being so weak.

  ‘Kristina just needed help,’ he said.

  Zena looked angry and she was fighting to contain herself. She threw Swedish words at Thorsten like stones and it wasn’t difficult to guess their meaning; Natalya imagined they went something like: “I don’t want to hear that shit”.

  ‘That’s your decision, but I’ll tell you the truth anyway,’ he replied in English. ‘You see that?’ He pointed through the car’s open door to a square of rusted springs poking through bright green moss. ‘I drove that car once. It’s a Zhiguli. You were in there, fast asleep on your mother’s lap.’

  Natalya could see the girl was struggling. ‘You took me away!’ she yelled.

  ‘Yes,’ Dahl dabbed at his eyes, ‘I did. Your father was no good.’ He went to brush Zena’s hair with a palm and she jerked her head back. ‘He smuggled girls younger than you. Your mother discovered that when he was arrested.’

  Zena shook her head. ‘Yuri said you killed her and took me away.’

  ‘I was helping you both to escape in this thing.’ He patted the Zhiguli. ‘We were going for the border crossing at Torfyanovka.’

  ‘Why didn’t you fly?’ Natalya asked.

  ‘Yuri did other smuggling too. Kristina thought he had men at the airport.’

  ‘You killed her,’ Zena said.

  Dahl’s jaw clenched. ‘We were five minutes away from the border.’ He pointed to the top of the bank. ‘It’s my fault, I was going too fast. The car skidded on ice; we came off the bridge and ended up here.’ His voice caught. ‘Your mother was gone. I found you in the footwell, wrapped in a blanket and pressed against a bag of clothes.’

  ‘So you stole me,’ Zena spat.

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ he pleaded. ‘If I had only saved myself, you would have frozen to death.’

  Zena glowered at him.

  ‘Yuri was in prison. What else was I to do?’ Fresh tears ran down his face. ‘I wrapped you in a blanket and carried you to Torfyanovka. My father sent a man to help us over the border.’

  ‘Why didn’t you take Zena to one of her relatives?’ Natalya asked.

  ‘Because that monster might have claimed her when he got out of prison. Anatoly told me the newspapers were saying Ksenia Volkova had been dragged away by wolves. I began to think of Zena as another girl; one I had found in an orphanage. Yuri’s daughter was dead.’

  ‘And that’s what everyone believed?’

  ‘People thought I had been naïve to take on a child alone but no one questioned the story. My father knew the truth of course – he expressed his displeasure at my recklessness but then he grew to love Zena and eventually let the matter drop.’

  ‘Boss?’ Rogov shouted from the top of the bridge. ‘Are you done?’

  She raised her hand and waved. ‘Coming,’ she called.

  Chapter 42

  The traffic approaching the border crossing was busy despite the ban on foot passengers to stem the flow of refugees and migrants entering the EU. Rogov stopped in front of a barrier and a woman in a green camouflage uniform with a thick, black ponytail came out of an orange hut. On the other side, in a parking area, Anatoly Lagunov was already waiting; he was leaning on the bonnet of his black BMW reading a newspaper.

  ‘Is this the crossing?’ Zena asked.

  ‘No.’ Rogov laughed. ‘It’s a checkpoint. In the army, I was stationed in one of these for six weeks.’ He pointed at the guard approaching them. ‘She’ll pass on our details to Torfyanovka so if we take too long or haven’t got the same number of passengers they’ll have a welcoming committee ready.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ Natalya said. She held out her police ID card, then pointed to Dahl and Zena. ‘These two are getting separate transport across the border in that BMW – she nodded in the direction of Lagunov’s car – ‘Can you make sure they are not delayed at Torfyanovka?’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’ The guard took their registration number and raised the barrier for them to continue.

  They pulled up next to the BMW and got out of the Primera. Dahl gave his lawyer a bear hug. ‘Anatoly it’s good to see you. Thank you for coming.’

  Lagunov looked discomfited by the embrace.

  ‘Is everybody ready?’ Natalya asked.

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ Dahl said; Zena nodded.

  Rogov lit another cigarette and Natalya took one from him, then regretted it – she was already feeling like a human ashtray. ‘Zena, if you don’t mind, I have some questions before you disappear.’

  She caught Zena raising her eyebrows and tilting her head in a sarcastic gesture that reminded her of Anton. She hoped Dinara wasn’t taking him away on holiday for too long.

  Thorsten put a protective arm around Zena, and she leaned into him. ‘Don’t you think she’s been through enough, Captain?’

  ‘It won’t take long.’ She turned to Zena. ‘Why did you come to Russia?’

  ‘To study.’

  ‘Yes, but why St. Petersburg?’

  ‘I liked the course.’

  ‘Is that the whole truth, Zena,’ she said.

  Lagunov checked his watch. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt but the security at Torfyanovka will be a nightmare if we take any longer and we need to catch the Naantali ferry tonight.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to wait,’ Natalya said bluntly. She sucked on the Winston then coughed. ‘So why did you come to Russia, Zena?’

  ‘Why does this matter? We’ve got her back,’ said Dahl.

  ‘Just answer the Captain,’
said Rogov, ‘then we can all go home.’

  Zena fiddled with her hair, taking out a band and straightening it into a ponytail. She seemed unhappy with the result and repeated it. ‘I got this random email. I thought it was junk but it had my name and told me to find the orphanage I came from. I searched on the internet for hours but there wasn’t anything in Krasnoye Selo; not even closed ones.’

  Dahl spoke quietly and calmly as if defusing a bomb. ‘But I’ve told you the truth now, Zena. We know there was no orphanage.’

  Natalya stubbed out the cigarette on the tarmac. ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘I replied telling them there wasn’t one. A few days later I got an email; it said my natural father was alive. It had a scanned wedding photo attached. I could see myself in the bride’s face. Even the man had this thick, blond hair like mine, and the same nose. I just knew they were my parents.’

  ‘You never said anything to me,’ said Dahl.

  ‘They told me not to trust you.’

  ‘So you came to Russia to find your father?’

  ‘They said I should find an excuse to come. There was a course at the university I liked so it wasn’t difficult.’

  Natalya turned to Dahl. ‘When did you decide to sell your companies?’

  Lagunov paced. ‘We’ve got a twelve-hour journey ahead of us. Can we do this another time?’

  ‘Early last year,’ Dahl said, ‘around February. The exchange rates were making them unprofitable.’

  ‘And, Zena, when did you start receiving these emails?’

  ‘March last year.’

  Dahl held out his hand to Zena. ‘Captain…Natalya, I won’t forget what you’ve done for us but we do have to go.’

  ‘It was my job,’ she nodded curtly then turned to the Primera.

  She watched Zena and Thorsten climb into the back of the BMW then the car accelerated away as Lagunov tried to make up for lost time.

  ‘So that’s that.’ Rogov stubbed out his cigarette.

  He turned the Primera in the parking area and she got in. Seconds later they stopped at the barrier to wait for the guard to let them leave. The Mercedes gelik with the tinted windows pulled up at the crossing. The region code was “99” on the number plate and she was sure it was the same one that had been following them earlier. Behind it, traffic was steadily building.

  The guard waved them on.

  ‘Wait, Rogov.’

  The electronic windows on the Mercedes SUV lowered for the guard. Natalya looked inside – there was an old Indian woman at the wheel and a girl of eleven or twelve sat next to her. Clearly, they were not FSB agents.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s go home.’

  Rogov pressed a preset station on the radio and the car filled with static. He turned it off again.

  ‘Why did you ask me to wait?’

  ‘That Mercedes.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought it was following us. Being a ment makes you paranoid.’

  Rogov thought for a moment. ‘Criminals too, paranoia makes them do stupid things. That’s how we catch them half the time.’

  After ten minutes they passed the bridge where Thorsten had crashed the Zhiguli all those years ago, killing Zena’s mother and setting in motion a train of events that led to the loss of his companies and the deaths of six people.

  She thought about the Mercedes again; it was hard to let go of the fact that she had been positive the gelik was following them. Criminals too, Rogov had said. Paranoia was the outward projection of internal stresses. It created delusions. The menti were overly suspicious and consequently, criminals panicked as if they were about to be discovered. One paranoia feeding another.

  ‘Stop the car!’ Natalya yelled. ‘We have to go back.’

  ‘Boss, can’t we go home?’

  ‘Rogov, turn the fucking car around now.’

  Chapter 43

  She fixed the magnetic flasher to the roof, the blue light illuminating the cars queueing at the checkpoint. The guard with the ponytail raised the barrier and waved them through. The traffic heading north was busy and Rogov drove on the opposite side of the road, forcing his way back in when oncoming vehicles hurtled towards them.

  ‘Get out the way, moron!’ Rogov made a swiping motion with his hand at a caravan that had seen the emergency lights and braked to a halt in front of them, blocking the lane. The elderly driver raised his arms to show there was nowhere for him to go.

  Rogov swore then took the Primera off the road and onto a muddy verge. The traffic built up behind the caravan and the Primera’s wheels span as it fishtailed in the dirt. After fifty metres he found a gap and rejoined the highway as it widened, then the road split to separate private from commercial traffic.

  At the Torfyanovka crossing they faced a row of booths, each one with a barrier and several cars waiting. A border guard, who could have passed for Rogov with his belly and pasty face, hurried out and waved his arms at the waiting vehicles to let them cut through. His random gestures sent the cars in all directions, making the situation worse.

  She got out and stood on the Primera’s sill for a better view. There were hundreds of cars at the crossing working through similar booths; none of them resembled Lagunov’s BMW.

  ‘They’ve gone through,’ she shouted above the siren. ‘We need to move.’

  She climbed in as he reversed the Primera to take them around a car of blond-haired Nordics blocking their path. Rogov’s lost twin raised the barrier and they were through into the no man’s land a few kilometres before the actual border. Cars heading for Finland were queuing all the way and he sped past them on the opposite carriageway. A black car broke out of the line and accelerated away.

  ‘That’s it!’ she yelled.

  The BMW squeezed past an oncoming van, ripping off Lagunov’s wing mirror. Rogov hit the horn. ‘Why doesn’t the stupid bastard stop?’

  Ahead was a sign – the border was five hundred metres away. The road in front of the BMW was clear all the way and the distance between them was widening.

  ‘Fuck,’ she hissed, ‘we’re too late.’

  She flicked off the siren.

  Rogov didn’t slow. She turned and saw a malicious glint in his eyes. ‘Boss,’ he shouted, ‘Look!’

  An eighteen-wheeler with “Vladivostok Auto Spares” stencilled on the side was parked at the border; it pulled out of the queue and started turning to block off the highway.

  ‘Come on!’ she screamed.

  The lorry moved with torturously slow speed. The cab twisted, then it reversed and straightened. The BMW headed for a gap. The eighteen-wheeler edged forward to seal the road. Lagunov’s car braked harder than she thought possible. It shuddered to a halt two metres from the lorry’s cab.

  Rogov stamped on the brakes. Lagunov was already running out, and they were out of the Nissan after him. If he crossed the border they would never get him back. Lagunov would insist he had been the victim of an FSB conspiracy, with just enough evidence to make Interpol reluctant to enforce a Red Notice. He was too far ahead, already rounding the lorry’s cab.

  Lagunov stopped. The driver of the eighteen wheeler blocked his path with a tyre lever in one hand.

  Dahl was on him too. ‘I told you to stop. You could have killed us all.’

  Natalya fought to control her breathing. ‘Lagunov was working with Volkov.’

  The Swede twisted his fist in Lagunov’s shirt to tighten his grip and the lawyer squirmed as he fought to free himself. The lorry driver saw he was no longer needed and climbed back in his cab, waving briefly to her and Rogov.

  ‘Thorsten! Let me go, damn you. I was trying to save you. The Russian police are corrupt.’

  She ignored him and turned to Dahl. ‘Why did the sale of your companies fall through?’

  Dahl rubbed his free hand over his face; he looked as tired as she felt. ‘The buyer was already nervous then his auditors found fraud.’

  ‘My guess is, Lagunov was helping himself,’ she said.

  Lagunov twisted h
is neck. ‘Get your hand off me, Thorsten!’

  ‘It’s alright, let him go. If you move, Lagunov…’ She pointed at Rogov who had taken out his Makarov.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Lagunov straightened his shirt. ‘When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky to have a job as a security guard.’

  ‘Don’t run, he really will shoot you. That’s what we do to murder suspects.’

  ‘Murder?’ The word made him recoil. ‘I haven’t killed anyone.’

  ‘Then how did Volkov know Zena was alive?’

  Lagunov looked to Dahl. ‘How should I know? I don’t care either. The real story is Kristina jerked him off. All she wanted was to get away from Volkov, and Thorsten ended up with her child like a pussy.’

  Dahl cocked his hand into a fist and smashed it into the side of his lawyer’s head. Lagunov’s feet lifted off the ground and he landed heavily on the tarmac, his body twisted.

  ‘Still think I’m a pussy?’ Dahl yelled over his lawyer’s prone body. ‘The man who got us over the border, I thought it must have been him but he had no idea Volkov was Zena’s father. It was you. Why did you tell Volkov, Anatoly?’

  Lagunov was dazed. He got slowly to his feet then dabbed his brow with the back of a hand.

  Natalya asked, ‘Rogov, have you got your bracelets?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The sergeant unclipped a set of handcuffs from his belt and fixed them to Lagunov’s wrists.

  As the lorry moved, there was a chorus of horns from the Finnish side; behind them, the motorists were oddly respectful and Natalya turned to see half a dozen border guards edging between the cars as they made their way towards them. She waved a thank you at the lorry driver and didn’t think he’d noticed until a tattooed arm extended from the open window of his cab and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  ‘So, why did you tell Volkov about Zena?’ Dahl asked.

  Lagunov’s mouth had taken on the crooked shape of a sneer. ‘You paid nothing for those companies then ran away. I gave up my life for them. They turned a profit because I made them turn a profit. They are worth a hundred times your original investment because of me. And what did I get? You rewarded me like a regular salaryman.’