SAINTS: Saints and Sinners Duet Book 1

by Henry, Sophia

  The first time I complained about standing in line for bread, Babushka reminded me of how things were when she was a child during World War II. She lived through years of rationing and even a few months where she and her family almost starved. Though part of our history, these were things I couldn’t comprehend until now.

  Since that moment, we’ve been stocking up on foods that will last and saving the rest of our money. It’s certainly smarter to save for the uncertain future, than to waste it on something frivolous—like blue jeans or a vinyl record from America. There’s a big difference between needs and wants. We have everything we need right now. Maybe in the new Russia, we will have some things we want. All we can do is wait.

  There’s too much unrest. Too much change. Too much worry. Papa says everything we know will be different within a few years—and I believe him. But it’s not like it matters because it won’t affect me. I’ll still go to work and come home to my family, in the apartment we share with four other families.

  As we walk, a gust of frigid air sends chills straight through my threadbare winter coat, numbing my entire body. Tears prick at my eyes, so I lower my head and snuggle my chin underneath my scarf. Crossing the street without looking up isn’t the smartest idea, since Moscow drivers are crazy. I trip on the curb and fall right into something.

  Thankfully, it’s a human, rather than a car.

  Strong hands grab onto my shoulders, keeping me from falling face-first into the snow.

  When I look up, I’m staring into the soft, brown eyes that danced through my dreams since the moment we met until recently. Dmitri Morozov—Dima to those of us close to him—one of Vanya’s teammates, is the type of man you can’t get out of your head. His dark, curly hair and sexy bedroom eyes put me under a spell, lulling me into believing I’d been wrong about people from Siberia all these years. Maybe they were a magical and mystical group uplifted by the bleak, desolate landscape fitting for prisons and labor camps.

  Vanya has always said I live with my head in the clouds. And maybe I do. Instead of seeing people for who they are, I see them how I think they could be in the very best light. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to want people to be their best selves, but I end up disappointed.

  Maybe that’s from growing up the way we did. With the exception of my brother, I didn’t have any heroes in my life. I’d never met many people from anywhere other than Moscow or Leningrad, so the mystery of Dima being from the far east was part of his charm. Had I been thinking with my head instead of my heart, I may have realized Dima would be like Siberia itself—wild and cold.

  During the times Vanya actually gets a chance to come home, all of our friends hang out together. It wasn’t unusual for Dima or his other line mate, Zhenya (Evgeny Bobrov), to stay with us for the weekend. Though he’s also from Siberia, Novosibirsk is closer than Vladivostok, and neither of them would ever be able to make it home in the short amount of time before they had to get back to base.

  On New Year’s Day, the biggest holiday in Russia, four members of Vanya’s team were staying with us. It was quite fun, but made for tight sleeping arrangements. We’re very lucky to live in an apartment with families who love to celebrate and welcome friends. Holiday enchantment had everyone in the apartment giddy. We moved from room to room, eating New Year’s staples like tangerines, Olivier salad, and jellied meats, drinking vodka and toasting to the new year.

  The mix of excitement and too much vodka had my hormones raging and my head spinning. The only thing I could think of was being with Dima. After a few hot and heavy kisses, we devised a plan to get away from the crowd. I would go to bed first, complaining that the vodka did me in, and he would follow shortly after. Nothing could have stopped us, not even the fact that my entire family sleeps in the same room—and I share a bed with my brother.

  While I can’t say losing my virginity was life-changing, the fast and fumbling experience wasn’t horrible either. We finished well before any of our friends and family retired for the night. Dima slipped out a few minutes after. Not because he didn’t want to stay and hold me, but because he had to get back to the party or people would talk. And the last thing I needed was my father finding out what we’d done.

  The next morning, Dima acted as if nothing ever happened. And I mean nothing. He was cold and refused to speak to me—as if the year we’d spent getting to know each other never happened. As if the moment we shared just hours before never happened. I pretended like I wasn’t affected, but it stung me to the core.

  I still hung out with Vanya and his friends every time they were home, but when Dmitri stayed with us, I’d go out with my friends instead of hang out with my brother. I hated making the choice because I missed Vanya terribly, but I didn’t want to be around Dima. No reason to be miserable in my free hours.

  Evidently, the feeling was mutual, because in the rare times I did see Dima, he didn’t speak to me and barely even looked at me. Normally, he stayed as far away as possible, but a few times I caught him looking my way when he had another girl in his arms. Which reinforced what an obnoxious pig he was.

  “Sorry. I— I wasn’t looking,” I stammer. My heart beats rapidly betraying my quest for indifference.

  He looks past me, toward Vanya, and his entire demeanor changes. The warm eyes that greeted me initially turn frigid as the Moscow air and his square jaw tightens. “You need to watch where you’re going when you cross the road,” he snarls.

  “You have no right,” I say, jerking out of his grasp and hurrying toward my brother. Once I’ve caught up, I drop his heavy bag in the snow at his feet.

  The nerve of Dmitri to be angry with me. He’s the one who led me on—showering me with sweet words and sexy smiles for months. He certainly had me fooled into thinking he liked me. When that magical moment came for us to be together, when he crawled into my bed, I thought we had something that would last. He should be ashamed to look me in the eye, let alone speak to me, with such an angry tone.

  “Stasya!” Vanya scowls and scoops up his bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing. When he looks up, he sees Dmitri and sighs. “Don’t start with the drama.”

  My brother knows all the details of what happened between Dmitri and I since he’s heard it from both sides. It annoys me that he stays neutral. I don’t care if it’s his line mate and close friend—I’m his sister! He should always take my side.

  Then again, he has to be stuck with Dmitri for eleven months of the year and relies on him for much of his hockey success, so I should be understanding of that.

  “Ivan Mikhailovich!” Dmitri greets my brother by placing his hands on his shoulders and leaning in to kiss his cheeks. “It’s been too long!”

  “Yes! Two full days is longer than we had last month, as I recall.” Vanya laughs.

  “Dmitri sees you more than I do,” I pout, feeling invisible and left out of the conversation.

  My brother rolls his eyes. “You hate me when I’m home and love me when I’m gone.”

  “That’s how it supposed to be between siblings, yes?” Dmitri leans over, looking toward the entrance to the metro, as if they might miss their train. “We should go.”

  “I’m allowed to complain,” I say, following them down the stairs. “I don’t get to fly to Sweden today. When I get off the train, I’ll be walking to work in the cold by myself.”

  “Stasya!” Ivan stops abruptly and spins around. “You know it’s not safe to be out here alone.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, mentally chastising myself. I hadn’t meant to slip up and tell him. There’s no reason to get him worked up worrying about me.

  “I thought Nikolai was meeting you here for the train?”

  “The market called him about bread, but he’s in line waiting for anything he can get. Which won’t be much since the shelves are bare.”

  “If you don’t start listening, you’re going to get killed. That’s the Moscow we live in now.”

  “I’m not worried about Mos
cow killing me, Vanya. I’m worry about Papa doing it,” I whisper as a goodbye. Vanya grabs me and pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly. We both know there’s truth behind my words.

  Tears prick at my eyes, as they do every time he leaves. Over the last twenty years, Vanya and I have shared everything—starting with the womb. Despite our teasing, I’ll miss my brother fiercely. Though he’s only four minutes older than I am, he’s always been my protector. Without him, I have no one to shield me from Papa’s anger—or his friends—who have gotten seedier since Mama died.

  “I will never leave you, Stasya.” Vanya rests his cheek on top of my head. “I have a plan, but you must trust me. Have I ever let you down?”

  “Never.”

  Vanya is the only constant in my life—the person who will always look out for me and never let me down.

  2

  Kirill

  Stockholm – 1 May 1989

  World Ice Hockey Championship

  I’ve done a lot of crazy things in my life, but helping someone defect might go down as the craziest. And that’s coming from someone who has thousands of criminal resources at his fingertips.

  Though the plan to have Vanya defect from Stockholm has been months in the making, it’s still nerve-wracking. We could only do so much before this moment—but getting him away from the team is going to be one of the most challenging parts. There are so many pieces that have to fall into place that we couldn’t plan. Once Vanya makes it to America, he’ll be fine, but if anything goes wrong from now until the plane from Stockholm to New York takes off, we’re going to have to think quick.

  Vanya and I are huddled with two representatives of the Chargers hockey team in the lobby of the hotel down the road from where the teams playing in the World Ice Hockey Championship have been staying over the last two weeks.

  The tournament is over.

  The USSR won.

  They don’t know they’re about to lose.

  “Who are you again?” Chris Brookins, the Detroit Chargers Assistant General Manager asks, peering at me over round, wire-rimmed glasses. The tall, thick man was known an enforcer when he played in the seventies. Though he seems like he can hold his own, he’s smart to be wary. They must really want Vanya, because the fact that Americans have trusted me with their lives surprises the shit out of me. I thought they were all scared of the big, bad Russians.

  If we get caught, we’ll all get into major trouble. The Americans would be jailed, but Vanya and I would get a one-way ticket to the firing squad.

  “Kirill Antonov, his translator. I’m the one who’s been communicating with your reporter friend,” I answer with complete confidence in my English. I’ve been studying the language for as long as I can remember.

  After they’d drafted Ivan last June, the Detroit Chargers had to find a way to contact him, knowing the State would never let an organization offering money and freedom anywhere near their athletes. They asked a reporter from their local newspaper who learned Russian during his years in the military to meet with Ivan while he was in Alaska covering another international hockey tournament.

  Under the guise of writing a story about the Central Scarlet Army team, the reporter was allowed access to Ivan for an interview. Before he left, he presented Ivan with a Chargers magazine, telling him that it would give him some information about the team. Inside was a letter from the Chargers, letting Ivan know they would do everything in their ability to bring him over whenever he was ready to come to America. But the letter was in English, and Ivan couldn’t read it. Even without an understanding of the contents, he knew enough not to share it with his superiors. Since Vanya and I have been friends our entire lives, and he knew I spoke English, he came to me to translate.

  Though we hadn’t seen each other much since taking different paths in life as teenagers, when he called asking me to meet him, my only questions were: when and where? At our meeting, he said he came to me because I was the only person he trusted that spoke English and would be excited to engage in something illegal and dangerous.

  How could I say no after such gorgeous flattery?

  Once I told him what the letter from Detroit said, he agreed to leave the USSR without hesitation. It made me see my old friend in a new light. I assumed he would blindly follow the Russian machine, but his courage surprised me. We discussed what defection would mean for him as an Army officer. If he were caught, he would be considered a traitor, a criminal. A light sentence would be spending the rest of this life at a labor camp in Siberia. Most likely, he would be killed as soon as he got back into the country.

  Being a product of the Russian hockey system serves him well when it comes to confidence. Failing was not an option. To him, there were no consequences, only rewards. He said he’d seen the older guys on the team fight for too much to let the opportunity slide. He didn’t have the same mental investment in the Soviet system as they did because he grew up among political turbulence.

  Athletes will always bring money—they can be bought and sold and marketized to bring in revenue. Why would he do that in the Soviet Union where the corrupt State sports department would take the majority of the money and leave him poor? At least in the NHL, he would get millions of dollars in his bank account.

  He asked me if I could contact Detroit and help him with the process, and I agreed. Since then, the reporter and I have been in communication, acting as translators for our respective parties, making plans to get Vanya to Detroit.

  Brookins glances at Ivan for confirmation, who has no clue what either of us just said, but he trusts me. I told him I’d help him get to North America and I plan on keeping my promise.

  The bustling lobby has my jaw and shoulders tense. I’m aware of every person that passes. The team never travels out of the country without Sovietsport officials and KGB agents. There are checks and balances to keep each athlete in line and accounted for. Once someone realizes Ivan isn’t in his room, there will be a manhunt. All hands on deck, searching for their missing superstar. It will go fast.

  Though it was the Detroit organization’s idea to steal Vanya away during the tournament, I can guarantee I have the most experience with shady situations out of the four of us standing here. The suits from the Chargers think I’m Vanya’s translator friend, which is fine with me. They’d shit their designer pants if they knew about half of the things I’ve done.

  Which is why I feel personally responsible for this plan working—and everyone’s safety.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man looking at us for a second too long. The hair rises on the back of my neck, alerting me that he might be a problem.

  Wasting time will get us all killed.

  “We need to move this,” I tell him. “I think we were followed.”

  “Fuck,” he hisses, glancing at the man next to him, another member from the Detroit organization. “Of course we are. Where should we go?”

  Sweat glistens above his eyebrows. He’s nervous—understandably so. The Chargers organization has spent too much money and put their asses on the line for Ivan to get caught.

  I understand enough about the male ego to assume that when they agreed to do this, they probably had some romantic notion that it would be fun, like playing spies in a Hollywood movie. The reality of helping someone defect—or any criminal activity—is a lot less glamorous.

  I’ve seen it countless times with boys in Moscow, puffing out their chests and acting like big pines when they are just tiny trees, members of small street gangs with absolutely no authority. When they meet real mafia, they run away with piss darkening the legs of their pants.

  These two American men must be courageous or stupid, because what they are doing is against the law. They may think they’re stealthy, but this will be all over the news in every country. And they’re fucking with the Soviet government—the ultimate enemy. Maybe this is the final phase of the Cold War. Steal the Soviet Union’s most prized possessions and watch the country crumble.

  Money tr
umps everything—even politics. Detroit wants their draft pick and they’ll do whatever it takes to get him, even if they have to bend international rules to steal him from another country.

  “There is a mall at Hamngatan and Regeringsgatan called the Gallerian. When you get there, drive around to the back entrance on Jakobsgatan. We will meet you out there.” My answer is quick and decisive because I’ve thought of everything.

  We all knew KGB would be looking for Vanya as soon as the CSA coaches and trainers realized he wasn’t in his room. In preparing for this moment, I researched Stockholm and the surrounding areas. Keeping Vanya safe is my number one priority and that meant having multiple backup plans in case we had to switch gears quickly.

  “Perfect. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.” The men walk away quickly, finally comprehending that time is of the essence in a situation like this. Suddenly, Chris turns around and asks, “Is he certain he wants to do this? To come with us?”

  “One hundred percent,” I answer for Ivan before spinning around. We exit the hotel through a different door to avoid being seen leaving with the Americans.

  Ivan left with only a few personal things in this possession. I brought extra clothes and hygiene products he’ll need to get to America. Once he’s there, someone from the team will take him shopping.

  I wish I could go to Detroit with him, but I have a meeting with my uncle in Brooklyn, New York. I know he’ll be fine when he gets to America, but Vanya is as close to a brother as I’ll ever have and I’ll always look out for his best interest.

  On the street, we hail a cab and direct the driver to the Gallerian.

  Vanya hasn’t said two words since we left the hotel and his silence worries me. I understand having doubts and fear now that the moment is here, but this is where I need his courage. If I know anything about my friend, it’s that he’s a natural leader and a strong decision maker.