The Reluctant Contact

by Stephen Burke

  Having deposited her safely at work, Yuri headed for the power station. He found that Catherine was not there. This was unusual as she was more diligent and conscientious than any Soviet worker he had ever come across. She even put the great Stakhanov, the originator of mine hand-drilling, in the shade.

  Yuri was not in the mood for doing any work. He was sitting in a chair, thinking about Anya, when he noticed a note stuck to one of the monitoring machines.

  Fire in back-up generator. Gone to investigate. Catherine.

  He grabbed his coat and bolted for the door. Outside, he skidded on ice but managed to right himself and kept on going. Grigory waved him down as he passed.

  ‘Do you have a minute, Yuri?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Sorry. Later,’ said Yuri, without stopping.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Grigory shouted after him.

  ‘Nothing. I hope.’

  Yuri barged in the door of the shed that housed the back-up generators. Catherine was standing with her back to him, screwing the front cover back on to one of the machines. The smell of burning lingered in the air, but whatever fire there had been was now out.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

  ‘There was a bit of a blaze in here,’ she replied. ‘Nothing major. Although, it could have been if I had arrived any later. I put it out.’

  ‘On your own?’ he said angrily. ‘You don’t do something like that without calling me.’

  ‘I didn’t know where you were,’ she said, her tone rising to match his own. ‘And why can’t I do it on my own? Because I’m a woman?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Because you are a temporary trainee. What happened?’

  ‘A short-circuit, I think. One of the wires burned right through. I think there must have been dust underneath, and it just took off.’

  Yuri stared at her with suspicion. Since he had been here, he had never had a fire in any of these generators.

  ‘It was just getting going when I arrived,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t, the whole place might have gone up.’

  Yuri calmed. A genuine saboteur would have let everything burn.

  ‘You can leave that off,’ Yuri said. ‘I want to have a look.’

  ‘You don’t believe me?’ she asked.

  Catherine pulled off the metal cover once more and Yuri spotted the unmistakable mark of a fresh burn on the back of her hand.

  ‘You’re injured,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, that. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Show me,’ he insisted.

  He held her hand close. She winced when he touched the scar.

  ‘I’ll get you some cream for that,’ he said.

  ‘It’s fine. Really.’

  Yuri looked inside the damaged generator, and it was as she had described it. A short-circuit more than likely, and the inside, underneath the motors, was filthy. They would all have to be cleaned to prevent the same thing happening again.

  ‘From now on, we need to stay in contact,’ he said. ‘I am going to get us each a radio. And you will keep yours with you twenty-four hours a day. All right?’

  Catherine smiled. ‘Am I allowed to turn it off when I go to sleep?’

  ‘Yes, you can do that,’ Yuri agreed. ‘But that’s the only time. And promise me you will not try to put out any fires without me, or do anything else dangerous.’

  ‘I promise, I will try and find you first, with my radio,’ she said.

  ‘And if you can’t?’

  ‘Then … I’ll put out the fire by myself.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You will try me again on the radio, and you will keep trying until you get me. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I don’t see what the fuss is about. I’m a big girl. I’m more than capable of handling myself.’

  ‘Tell that to your hand,’ he said.

  This was exactly the kind of thing that Timur had warned him about. Suspicious fires in an essential piece of equipment, only witnessed by a newly arrived foreigner. He would not be mentioning any of this to the KGB man. For now, he believed her. But he knew from personal experience that a good saboteur could cover their tracks.

  He dined with Anya in the canteen, without their customary drink beforehand. And there would be none to follow. The whole thing was a source of amusement, at least for the first day. He saw her looking longingly at a bottle of red wine on a nearby table. And when she looked back, she caught his stare and smiled. He knew this honeymoon wouldn’t last and there would definitely be harder times ahead. Her return to the school had gone better than expected. The principal had been understanding, and the children had behaved as if nothing had happened.

  ‘They’ve got short memories, for some things,’ said Yuri. ‘And they don’t hold grudges, not like adults.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Anya. ‘I don’t want them to hate me.’

  ‘Did you ever think about having any yourself?’

  Anya smiled as if the idea were ridiculous. ‘Kids? No.’

  ‘What about your husband?’ Yuri asked.

  ‘We were too busy, in the programme. He was all about the work. We never had enough time for each other, let alone to spend raising children. How about you?’

  Yuri paused before answering. No one in Pyramiden knew about his family history, except for Grigory. No one knew because it was not something he had ever told anyone.

  ‘I have a son,’ he said.

  He waited for her reaction as she took in this news.

  ‘What!’ said Anya. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  Yuri shrugged. ‘I don’t see him. I married young, and me and his mother aren’t on exactly friendly terms.’

  ‘Well, when was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Twenty years,’ said Yuri. ‘When he was six. He’d be the same age as English Catherine now.’

  ‘He’s a grown man?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yuri. ‘Old enough to have had kids himself. He could have for all I know.’

  ‘Maybe he’d like to see you?’ said Anya.

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ said Yuri. ‘After twenty years, don’t you think it’s a bit late?’

  ‘No. You’re his father. You should write to him,’ said Anya.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t you want to see him?’ she asked.

  ‘I was never a part of his life, so why start now. Just to make me feel less guilty? I do feel guilty but his mother didn’t want me to see him, so what could I do.’

  ‘You give up too easily on things, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Is that why you’re here, so you can put everything difficult in your life behind you?’

  Yuri stared at her. He didn’t disagree with anything she had said. It was just unnerving the way she had figured him out so soon. Abstinence had already made her sharper. A noise from his coat pocket saved him from further personality dissection. He pulled the two-way radio out and put it on the table. They could both hear Catherine’s voice talking into hers.

  ‘I’m switching off now, Comrade Yuri,’ said Catherine. ‘Getting an early night. See you tomorrow.’

  Anya glared at the radio. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘I got them for English Catherine, so I can keep track of her.’

  ‘Why do you need to keep track of her?’ asked Anya.

  ‘Her’ was said with a touch of venom.

  Yuri smiled. ‘She got herself into a spot of bother today. I can get one for you too if you like. Maybe I should.’

  Anya shook her head, and Yuri put the offending radio back into his coat pocket.

  That night, as Anya slept beside him, Yuri lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The last time he had seen his son he had not known it would be for the last time. He had taken him, at a prearranged time, from his mother’s apartment to the local park. They chatted and fed stale bread to the ducks beside the frozen pond. They had a brief disagreement when the boy had wanted to skate on the ice; it was early winter and it was still too thin. Apart from that they had a pleasant day tog
ether. When he dropped him home, it was the usual wordless exchange with his mother. She didn’t even bother to make eye contact with him any more.

  Two weeks later, he called at the door to arrange another visit, and a stranger told him that they had moved. It took him three months to find them. She had found a new man; they were living together. He was going to be a father to the boy, and neither of them wanted Yuri to be part of the equation. Yuri and the boy had no say in the matter.

  He objected, of course, but he had little power to change the situation. And as days turned into weeks, he got used to the idea. It meant he was free, with no ties to anyone. He walked away, without looking back.

  When he was six the boy had looked just like his mother. Straight fair hair, with two-tone eyes that were green on the outside and brown in the middle. Yuri wondered if he had grown up to look anything like him.

  There was no chance of him falling asleep now, so he reached under his bed and his hand found Semyon’s file. He carried it over to the table and opened it. The early pages contained official typewritten reports. It was clear from these that Semyon had been an informer going all the way back to his student days in Latvia. He had even received several commendations for the diligence of his work for the state. Who knew what havoc he had sown over the years among friends, teachers and relations? Some people ended up being informers after being caught committing an offence. Faced with the choice of punishment or telling tales on their friends, most chose the latter. However, Yuri suspected it was Semyon’s ambition that had marked him out as a suitable candidate for recruitment.

  None of Semyon’s Latvian reports were in the file, only the ones he had written since he had arrived in Pyramiden. The first bunch made Yuri laugh out loud. Anya stirred in the bed behind him, so he kept quiet. He turned the pages as silently as he could. If she had been drunk, as usual, she would have been sleeping more soundly.

  The subjects of these first reports were Semyon’s Baltic buddies, the Lithuanians. Yuri compared the report dates to the ones in the notebook, and he discovered that Semyon had given them the coded name Bears. In his reports he had faithfully catalogued a litany of their drunken boasts about sabotaging Soviet interests in their homeland. However, in fairness to the little weasel, he did remark that he was not sure whether to take any of their claims at face value or whether it was all bar talk. Yuri had to agree. The Lithuanians had a high opinion of themselves, and a chip on their shoulders as big as the Berlin Wall. If they had found out that Semyon was informing on them they certainly would not have been pleased. Perhaps they would have been angry enough to commit murder. He imagined the three of them surrounding Semyon in the mine shaft, and having a row about his betrayal. One blow from the tall one with something heavy, and that would have been that.

  But then why had the Lithuanians threatened him, and beaten him up, claiming to be Semyon’s best friend in the world? Unless that was a show they had put on for his benefit to keep him guessing.

  He had another look at the pages that Semyon had written about him. A more thorough read confirmed his first impression. There was nothing in it that Timur would not have said to his face. And any accusations of sabotage or individualism, however merited, fell flat when set against the fact that this lauded Soviet outpost only functioned because of him. He didn’t give a shit about communism, or Soviet ambition, but he worked hard. Until now, this much had protected him.

  The pages were handwritten by Semyon, and in the margins, here and there, another hand had made a few notes. Timur. Fuck him, thought Yuri. If he wanted to make trouble for him, he could give plenty in return.

  Another report documented various conversations Semyon had had in the bar with a miner from Chechnya. Yuri remembered him. He had left on the last boat before winter, after his contract had expired. The man obviously had a loose tongue while drunk, as he had made a litany of comments about named party officials in his home town. For the most part, they were accusations of financial corruption. All of them were probably true. A non-corrupt party official in the Soviet Union was a rarity.

  Timur had written a note to self at the end of this report.

  Have this joker arrested as soon as he gets home.

  The poor guy was to travel all the way home, oblivious to any problem, with his wife waiting at the dock. And he would be arrested in front of her for speaking the truth to someone who pretended to be his friend.

  All of the reports had corresponding entries in Semyon’s notebook. Except for one. The Latvian had apparently done three reports on Eagle. But whatever these were, they were not in his KGB file.

  The other reports were of minor interest, apart from one. For some reason, Semyon had made six short reports on Grigory. In the notebook he was Fox. Yuri read each report word for word. There was nothing in them that he could see. They were all innocuous conversations. Semyon had attempted to draw Grigory out on various contentious issues. But true to form, Grigory had replied with intelligent, philosophical answers. How peculiar, thought Yuri. Why had Semyon continued to approach Grigory, and to write reports about him, when he never once said anything incriminating? Perhaps Timur had made him do it. But what was so interesting about Grigory? And who did Eagle refer to?

  Chapter 9

  ‘THE VERY MAN,’ said Grigory, as he stood near the exit door in the foyer of the Cultural Palace.

  Yuri looked around. He had been so immersed in his thoughts that he had walked right past without noticing him.

  Grigory closed the out-of-date edition of the Izvestiya newspaper he had been reading and slipped it into his blazer pocket. It was quite a trick to have one eye engrossed in political propaganda and the other on the lookout for people he wanted to talk to.

  ‘You’ve suddenly become a hard man to pin down,’ said Grigory. ‘In a hurry?’

  ‘No,’ said Yuri. ‘I’ve got time. What is it?’

  ‘Let’s walk,’ said Grigory, pointing the way towards the film projection room.

  Yuri pictured Semyon doing the same thing, walking, talking, only with an agenda of some sort. Semyon the weasel, and Grigory the fox. Grigory was a clever man, and Yuri wondered if he had known what the Latvian was up to.

  ‘What was all that panic the other day?’ Grigory asked. ‘Where were you running off to?’

  ‘Oh, Catherine had put out a generator fire, by herself.’

  Grigory frowned. ‘She’s OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yuri. ‘Just a minor burn. She won’t do it again. We have a new system.’

  Grigory nodded, but his expression was still clouded.

  ‘And it was an accident? The fire.’

  Yuri looked him in the eye. ‘Yes, it appeared that way. Is there something you are not telling me?’

  ‘About Catherine? No. With her, what you see is what you get.’

  Yuri did not entirely believe him. ‘Is that what you wanted to see me about?’

  ‘No,’ said Grigory. ‘You’ve had some trouble lately, I hear, with your new lady friend. Anya, isn’t it?’

  Yuri sighed. ‘This place is too small.’

  Grigory smiled. ‘I was under the impression you liked living here. Have you changed your mind about that?’

  ‘No. And there’s no trouble,’ said Yuri. ‘She just had one too many one night, that’s all.’

  ‘How is she doing now?’ asked Grigory.

  ‘She’s not an alcoholic if that’s what you’re asking. She is being more careful, now that she knows her limits.’

  Both men remained silent as the cinema projectionist came out a door and passed them carrying five reels in heavy metal cans.

  ‘She is no more an alcoholic than I am,’ continued Yuri, when the man had gone. ‘She can handle herself. And besides, I am looking after her.’

  ‘You’re looking after her,’ said Grigory, with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, I am. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Grigory. ‘Would it be too forward of me to ask if this one is different
from all the others?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yuri. ‘It would. Mind your own business.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Grigory. ‘I was only trying to help. If I can be of any assistance, you know my door is always open.’

  Grigory turned and walked back the way they had come. Yuri felt guilty for being so cool with him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, after him.

  The more he considered Semyon’s reports on Grigory, the more he was convinced that the motivation behind them was professional jealousy on Timur’s part. Apart from the mine director, Grigory and Timur were the two most powerful men in Pyramiden. Grigory, it had to be said, wielded his power with a lot more subtlety than the KGB man. And he was popular, which Yuri knew could be a strong motive for envy, especially in someone as immature as Timur.

  As for Semyon, there was nothing in his reports that would have made Grigory angry, if he had found out about them. Apart from the fact that he had the cheek to write them at all.

  Sobriety had its downsides. Sure, it brought a feeling of well-being, and increased energy. Mental agility certainly took a leap up too. But since they had both been on the wagon, much of the fun had fizzled out of his and Anya’s relationship. Conversation now tended to be serious and considered, and laughter a lot less frequent. Her visits to his apartment were no longer every night. Alcohol, it seemed, had been at least part of the attraction. He hoped this was an adjustment period and that their relationship would find a new rhythm soon enough.