“What d’you want?” The boy’s voice was wary.
“I told you. To talk.”
“The biscuit?”
She held it out. He snatched it and didn’t even snap it in half, part for himself, part for the dog. He gave it all to the puppy in his arms, who gobbled it down, then licked the boy’s chin, eagerly asking for more.
“What’s your name?” Lydia asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. It’s easier, that’s all. I’m Lydia.”
“Fuck off, Lydia.”
She spun on her heel and started to march away. Over her shoulder she called, “So you don’t want breakfast, or some money in your pocket after all. I see I misjudged you, you stupid little rat-brain.”
For a moment she thought she’d lost him. But suddenly there was the sound of scurrying steps and the young boy was in front of her, facing her, but moving backward on his toes as she kept walking forward. A trickle of moonlight brushed his milky hair, giving him a strange elfin appearance, his chin pointed, his blue eyes as reflective as mirrors.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
“Da.”
“Money?”
“Da.”
“How much?”
“We’ll negotiate that over kasha.”
“For Misty too?”
“Of course.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Deliver a note.”
The boy laughed, a sweet clear sound that gave Lydia hope.
THE BOY’S NAME WAS EDIK. HE PERCHED ON THE END OF LYDIA’S bed and spooned porridge into his mouth without a word, while at his feet the puppy was snuffling around its empty bowl, its full stomach distended wider than its flimsy rib cage. Lydia sat in the chair, aware that Liev and Elena, still in their nightshirts, had pulled back the curtain and were sipping cups of chai. Through its steam they watched him with suspicion.
Lydia bent down, scooped up the puppy, and placed it on her lap. Instantly a moist pink tongue licked her chin and she laughed, stroking the eager little gray head. The puppy had large yellow-brown eyes and paws two sizes too large.
“Where did you find her?” she asked the boy. “Misty, I mean.”
“In a sack.” He didn’t look up from his porridge and spoke between mouthfuls. “A man was trying to drown her in the river.”
“Poor Misty,” she smiled, ruffling the wispy ears. “And lucky Misty.”
“Lydia.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I bit you.”
“As long as you don’t do it again.”
“I was frightened you wouldn’t let me go.”
“I know. Forget it.”
The boy’s eyes fixed on hers for a second before returning to the spoon. He didn’t look anywhere near Liev. Lydia was just beginning to think this was going surprisingly well, when Liev hauled himself to his feet and lumbered over to where Edik was seated. He seized a hank of his pale hair. The boy dropped the spoon with a yelp.
“Chuck this thieving little bastard back out on the street, Lydia. And his animal with him.”
“No, Liev. Leave the kid alone. He’s going to help me.”
“Lydia.” It was Elena this time. “Look at him. He’s filthy. He’s one of the urchins that live on the streets and will be riddled with lice and fleas. The dog as well. For heaven’s sake, do as Liev says.”
“Out!” Liev growled at the boy.
The dog bounced up to Liev’s foot and started to chew at his bare toes. The big man’s hand abandoned the boy and descended on the animal, swinging it up in the air as if to throw it across the room.
“No!” Lydia shouted, as she snatched the puppy from his grasp and smacked the Cossack’s great paw. “You are heartless.”
Liev’s one eye stared at her with an expression of both surprise and hurt. “They’re vermin,” he muttered, and slammed his way out of the room.
Elena, the boy, and the dog all looked at Lydia.
“Damn it!” she hissed.
She grabbed the boy and the dog by the scruff and hauled them down to the water pump in the courtyard.
“IT’S AN HONOR, CHANG,” HU BIAO POINTED OUT.
He was at Chang’s side as they came down the steps of the Hotel Triumfal. The rest of the delegation followed behind, with Kuan at the rear. She had not spoken to Chang since last night.
“It is a great honor, Hu Biao,” he corrected his young assistant, loudly enough for their Russian escorts to hear. He was speaking in Mandarin, but an interpreter was never more than a pace away from his elbow. “To be invited to the Kremlin to have talks with Josef Stalin himself will enable us to report back to Mao Tse-tung the thoughts in the Great Leader’s mind. Mao will be humbly grateful. China needs such guidance in spreading the ideals of Communism among our people.”
Biao glanced at him, just a flicker of the eyes. Chang suppressed a smile. Even this young soldier knew there was nothing humble about Mao, not even in the tip of his little finger. But entry to the very heart of the Soviet system, a meeting in the Kremlin, and a talk with the man who grasped the reins of power at the center of it would be of great interest. There was even a ripple of danger about it that made the delegation nervy and uncommunicative this morning. As if they knew they might walk in but never walk out, caught like flies in a web.
The day was bright, the streets drenched in sunlight. Blue skies had replaced the clouds of yesterday, but Chang’s heart hung heavy in his chest because it was not to the Kremlin that his feet longed to direct themselves. The frosting of snow on the trees opposite the hotel glittered invitingly and people were strolling under them, young couples openly hand in hand. He looked away.
Wherever he and the Chinese delegation went, soldiers cleared an open space for them, pushing people aside as though to keep the delegates from contamination. Or was it from contaminating? The pavement in front of the steps had been scrupulously swept free of any Muscovites, while three official cars with the hammer and sickle pennant flapping on their hoods purred patiently at the curb. Their chief escort, a brisk woman in uniform, opened one of the doors and treated them to a stiff smile, but just as Chang was about to enter the cushioned interior he heard a shout.
The cause was a boy. No more than ten or twelve years old, thin as a weasel but running fast. He had wormed his way past a soldier and was dodging another’s grasp, racing across the empty space in front of the hotel as if his tail were on fire.
Chang’s heart opened up in his chest. With two strides he stepped into the boy’s path, knocking him off balance and causing him to crash. For no more time than it takes for one of the gods to frown, they stumbled against each other. Then a soldier’s gloved hand reached out and seized the urchin by his thin arm, shaking him so hard into submission that the rag wrapped around his head fell off to reveal pale hair that gleamed like pearls in the sunshine. The chief escort hurried over to Chang, stern annoyance on her face. But something more was there as well. It was fear. She was frightened he would report her for incompetence.
“Comrade Chang,” she said quickly, “I apologize. The boy will be punished.”
“Let him go.”
“Nyet. The street urchin must be taught a lesson.”
“Let him go, comrade.”
Chang’s tone was quiet. The escort studied him for a second, then readjusted the collar of her military coat.
“Let him go, comrade,” he said again. It was unmistakably an order. He turned to the soldier who was twisting the boy’s arm behind his back like a brittle twig. “Release him. He did me no harm.”
The chief escort gave a sharp nod and the soldier’s grip loosened. Instantly the boy was running up the street and disappearing into the crowd faster than a rat down a drainpipe. Without comment Chang took his seat in the car and nodded appreciatively as the escort pointed out the new constructions undertaken along their route, the improved street lighting, the widening of the roads.
“Very good,” he murmured.
; Only when she and his fellow delegates were engrossed in the appearance of the great Kremlin fortress with its towering red walls and gleaming roofs did Chang slide a hand into his coat pocket. A folded piece of paper lay inside that had not been there before.
Thirty-three
“IT’S FASCINATING TO SEE THE CONSTRUCTION of it.”
“I agree,” Jens Friis responded to Olga, who was standing at his side. They were both gazing upward. “Every time I see it, it takes my breath away.”
“It’s like a huge pregnant whale floating up there.”
Jens laughed, his breath a shimmer of white in the early-morning air. “Ah, Olga, you don’t do it justice. It’s an airship. Look at it. Sleek and elegant. A gigantic silver bullet waiting for someone to pull the trigger.”
He was proud of the design. However much he hated it, he was proud of it. Like a child who goes bad, you still can’t stop loving it. Airships had a far greater range than airplanes and this one, with two biplanes attached to it, would provide a weapon that could terrorize whole cities and battlegrounds.
With a shiver Olga looked away from the creation looming above their heads. Instead she stared at young Fillyp struggling with the ropes, at the cement floor meticulously clean, at her own hands, a skilled chemist’s hands.
“Olga,” Jens said gently, and for a brief second while everyone’s attention was elsewhere he touched her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You have no choice. None of us have.”
She turned her bleak blue eyes on him. “Is that true, Jens? Is that really true?”
THE AIRSHIP’S HANGAR WAS AS HIGH AND AS INTRICATELY ribbed as the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral. It towered above them like a new kind of sky, but no sun ever shone inside this world. It dwarfed the band of engineers and scientists who set about their work with well-schooled efficiency, dwarfed to the significance of worker ants by the vast structure.
Today it was Jens’s task to reconstruct the release triggers on the gas containers and adjust his new design for one of the holding brackets on the underside of the biplanes in the adjoining hangar. The weight of each biplane was crucial to the airship’s balance, so he had to calibrate his measurements with minute precision. He was watched carefully. Not only by the guards who shuffled up and down, rifles slung over their shoulders, beating their arms across their chests to keep warm, but by the others. He never knew who they were or what they did. Lean-faced, gray-haired observers, two of them, always dressed in black suits. He called them the Black Widows because they crawled all over the place, poisonous as spiders.
They both wore spectacles and one was constantly unwinding the wire frames from his ears and polishing the glass with his pristine white handkerchief, which seemed to be reserved for that one specific task. They rarely spoke. Just watched. Everything he did. Sometimes when he glanced over his shoulder at them, one of the overhead lamps would be reflected in their lenses and it looked to Jens as if hellfire itself was trapped in their eyes.
OUTSIDE IN THE MIST ELKIN WAS LOLLING ON A BENCH AT THE side of the hangar, smoking a cigarette and picking at a burn on the back of his hand. Smoking of any kind was strictly forbidden inside the hangars or even anywhere near them for that matter, but once out here in the surrounding compound no one bothered much and the massive buildings provided good protection from the biting wind.
Jens lit his own cigarette—one of the bonuses of being part of this unit was free smokes—and took a place next to his colleague on the bench, folding his long legs under the seat.
“Elkin,” he said, “you and I have got to have a serious talk about timing. You told Colonel Tursenov that we’ll have it fixed in two weeks.”
“It’s true, we can.”
“I think that’s very doubtful. We’ll have to run a sequence of tests first.”
“For Christ’s sake, Friis, don’t treat me like one of those dimwits over there.” He gestured with the tip of his cigarette toward a guard sitting on the top step of a stone storage hut over by the compound’s brick wall. Near enough to keep an eye on them but too far for words to carry.
“Elkin, just think about what we’re doing here,” Jens murmured. “Think about the monster we’re creating.”
“All I’m thinking about is my release at the end of it. That’s what they promised us. Our freedom.”
“You’re a fool, Elkin.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Use that big brain of yours. What we’re involved in here is top secret. Do you honestly believe that when we’ve completed our work on it, they’ll just open the doors and let us walk out?”
“Yes!”
“Like I said, you’re a fool.”
Elkin jumped to his feet and glared down at Jens, who remained seated, unwilling to attract the guard’s attention.
“Friis, I did nine years in the camps in Siberia, including three in the Kolyma gold mine. I’m bloody lucky to be still alive at all. I’m not going to risk this one chance of becoming a free citizen, of returning to my family, just because you have some stupid misplaced notion of noble behavior to protect others.”
“We are all lucky to be alive. And every one of us wants our freedom.”
Elkin leaned over so that his scarred face was only inches from Jens and whispered fiercely, “Then don’t fucking ruin it for the rest of us by causing any more delays.” He turned on his heel and strode through the damp air back toward the entrance to the hangar, his figure dissolving in the mist.
Jens didn’t move. He let his unfinished cigarette fall to the wet grass and inhaled deeply while he fought off a black wave of sorrow. He was used to depression. It always came and sat at his heels like a faithful dog until he was as accustomed to its rank and fetid breath as he was to his own. But now he had a weapon against it, a bright light he could switch on at will, shine in its dull lifeless eyes and drive it back into the darkness from which it came: the knowledge that his daughter was alive.
He closed his eyes and conjured her up in his head. An elfin dancing creature. He tried to imagine her as she would be now, a young girl of seventeen with hair the color of flames and clear amber eyes that looked at you straight. A face that kept private thoughts hidden behind a slow curious smile. But he couldn’t do it. That seventeen-year-old kept sliding away into the mist like Elkin, and in her place skipped a laughing child, one who tossed her head when she ran into a room or creased her smooth forehead into a frown of concentration when helping her father bang a nail into a length of wood or draw a perfect angle of ninety degrees. A heart-shaped face that would tilt up at him, eyes bright, and break into a wide grin when he tapped her little chin and said, “Well done, maleeshka.”
“I’m glad you’ve found something to look happy about.”
Jens opened his eyes to find Olga standing in front of him. He liked that shy uncertain way she had about her and had an overwhelming urge to take her hand firmly in his and walk away to freedom. Except that the field and the hangars were surrounded by a ten-meter-high wall topped with coils of vicious wire, and guards patrolled its perimeter day and night.
So instead he said for her ears only, “Someone is looking for me.”
“Who?”
“My daughter.”
Olga’s eyes widened, soft blue eyes that were good at spotting his moods. “I didn’t know you even had a daughter.”
There was something in her voice, something regretful just under the surface, but he was too engrossed in the images in his head to notice it.
“I thought she was dead,” he said.
“What happened?”
His ears heard the crack of a gunshot, and he looked around quickly before he realized it was in his mind. “We were on a train.” He recalled the temperature in the cattle wagons. So cold it transformed the blood in his veins to agonizing ice and he’d watched the lips of his wife and daughter turn blue, their skin whiter than the snow outside in the wastelands of Siberia.
“The Bolsheviks were everywhere,” he said, �
�stopping all White Russians escaping. They hauled all the men off the train and . . .” He grimaced and lit himself another cigarette to rid his mouth of the taste of death.
“Shot them?” Olga asked.
He nodded. “I was one of the lucky ones. Because I’m Danish, they threw me in a labor camp instead.” He drew hard on his cigarette. “Lucky,” he repeated bitterly. “It depends what you mean by that word, doesn’t it?”
“What about your wife and daughter? What happened to them?”
“I thought they would have been killed as well.”
“But now you’ve heard your daughter is alive?”
“Yes.” His broad smile came as a surprise to both of them. “Her name is Lydia.”
Thirty-four
ALEXEI SLEPT LATE. HIS LEGS ACHED, HIS SKIN itched. A woman with sores on her face and a broom in her hand prodded him with the bristles.
“Up! Kozel! Out now.”
Alexei rolled out of bed fully clothed, aware of his own stink, and saw that the dormitory had already emptied of last night’s occupants. The rule was that no one was permitted indoors in daylight hours. These were mercifully short in winter. He was heading down a tiled corridor on the ground floor toward the single bathroom when a rush of cold air signaled that the main door had swung open and a voice behind him drew his attention.
“Tovarishch!”
He turned. Three men in long coats with fur shapkas jammed on their heads were standing just inside the front door, staring at him. The lethargic concierge behind the reception desk eyed them with dislike but made no comment, and Alexei experienced a flicker of alarm. He folded his arms across his chest as though bored by the interruption and remained where he was, his mouth pulled into a tight line.
“Da?” he responded.
“We want you to come with us.”
Alexei’s mind raced. OGPU operatives. They had to be. That’s all he could think. The secret police. They come for you when you least expect it, especially when there are few people around to witness it. Somehow they’d traced him. Now the bastards had come to arrest him. Because of his social origins? Just because he was from an aristocratic family? Or was there something else? Immediately his thoughts went to Antonina. Had she betrayed him? A bitter taste stung the back of his tongue because he’d believed he could trust her. How the hell could he help his father when he couldn’t even help himself? He forced his shoulders to relax and stuck a smile of sorts on his face.
The Girl from Junchow Page 25