The Girl from Junchow

by Kate Furnivall

  He must have shivered because Olga took his hand. Her body next to his on the bench seemed so slight, she felt more like a shadow than a person, and at times in the darkness of the truck he even wondered whether he was imagining her. The way he imagined designs in his head. He squeezed her fingers to convince himself she was real, or was it to convince himself that he was real? Sometimes he wasn’t sure.

  But Colonel Tursenov had made it clear that the test would be real enough, to be carried out with a full load of phosgene in its tanks to be sprayed over the prison camp so that they could study what number of people it would affect. Affect? No. What number of people it would kill. And Babitsky had warned that other specialists would take over from Jens’s team when the first test run was completed, so what then? More tests over more camps? Where did it end?

  The truck jolted and somewhere in the dark a head or an elbow cracked against the metal side. Prisoner Elkin swore. Today would be hard.

  ALEXEI SLID OUT OF THE HOLLOW HE’D SCRAPED IN THE SOIL and moved closer to the road. Around him others did the same, invisible ripples in the night air. When the yellow headlights drew near, any movement would be spotted, so the vory had to be in position and as still as the tree trunks themselves.

  The vehicles were approaching, he could hear them now, their engines harsh in the silent forest, three pairs of headlamps cutting tunnels through the darkness. Not what he’d expected. Usually it was just one car in the lead, followed by the truck, but this was a convoy with the truck at its center, a support car in front and another behind. Four soldiers in each of the cars, two in the cab of the truck. Ten men in all. Obviously the colonel had tightened security, but not by much. Who in their right mind would want to ambush a truck full of engineers and scientists?

  The tree trunk was in place. A thin pine skewed across the road as if blown down by the previous night’s wind, and it brought the lead car to a juddering halt. In the headlamps Alexei could see it was a two-door NAMI-1 with a canvas top, and that behind it the truck and the second NAMI-1 bunched up tight as though seeking safety in numbers. The passenger door of the first car burst open and a tall soldier, with the lights from the truck bouncing off his bald head, descended onto the forest floor.

  “Shit! A tree down.”

  “Shift it,” the driver called out.

  “Fuck you, I’m not shifting that on my own, it’s too heavy. Get out here, you lazy scum.”

  Two soldiers wrapped in thick greatcoats clambered out from the back, rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders. The driver climbed down reluctantly, but he was much more cautious. He remained tight against the car, his rifle ready in his hands, eyes scanning the forest, trying to probe the shadows beyond the headlamps. He was the danger. Alexei took aim with his Mauser revolver, exhaled slowly to lower his heart rate, and tightened his finger on the trigger. First he saw the eruption of blood from the man’s throat, and then the noise hit him, raw and violent in the silence of the forest.

  A spray of bullets thudded out of the darkness before the other three soldiers had time to raise their rifles. They jerked like puppets, heads arching back as they were hit, bodies crumpled to the ground. Those in the rear car were better prepared and came out with rifles blazing. A hail of bullets roared into the trees, tearing off branches, ricocheting off trunks, mutilating the forest. One ripped past Alexei’s shoulder as he sheltered behind a pine, almost snagging his army uniform, but one of the vor farther down the line let out a guttural grunt. Not so lucky.

  Alexei felt a hot rush of anger and crouched low, moving forward at a run. He blasted out the truck’s headlights. One of the soldiers was climbing back into the rear car and Alexei fired at point-blank range. A huge crimson flower blossomed on the back of the soldier’s greatcoat and he slumped into the passenger seat, clawing to shut the door to protect himself. A bullet from somewhere close took his eye out and he stopped moving.

  “LET ME GO.”

  “No, Lydia. No.”

  “I must see what is—”

  “No.”

  Chang would not release her. His grip on her was too strong. They were hunched behind a tree far back from the road and she could smell the tang of its bark above her own fear, but the gunfire and the shouts in the darkness were unbearable for her. She needed to be there.

  “Please, Chang An Lo, let me—”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth, listening hard to the sounds from the road. “The guns are growing fewer.”

  That’s when she bit him.

  JENS FELT PANIC LIKE SOMETHING SOLID INSIDE THE TRUCK. IT writhed in the blackness and threatened to choke him. People were screaming in here, raging. They hammered on the metal doors, begged to be let out. The noise of the guns outside was loud enough to deafen, reverberating as bullet after bullet thudded into the side of the truck. One hit a tire and they felt the truck lurch as though drunk. Out in the forest, lives were ending. Explosions of glass and shrieks of pain, death trampling over hearts and lungs.

  Jens sat on the bench, his face clutched in his hands, and tried to think, but the darkness, the noise and the panic, they knotted the coils of his brain. Don’t do this, Lydia. Don’t. Not today of all days, my daughter. This day was to be my redemption.

  We are coming for you. That’s what she’d said in her letter.

  Suddenly Olga was beside him and she lifted his face, kissed his closed eyes. “This is good-bye,” she whispered.

  He knew she was right. “I hope you find your daughter again, Olga.” He kissed her cheek.

  Elkin was bellowing at the doors when suddenly the guns ceased and there was a collective intake of breath, all ears straining, all pulses racing.

  “Get out here,” someone yelled outside and the truck’s rear doors were thrown open.

  ALEXEI STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE TREES, SOMETHING IN HIM unwilling to approach closer. The dirt road was littered with nine bodies, plus one sprawled in the second NAMI-1, but he kept a watch on the forest as though not trusting it to remain silent. He had chosen this spot for the ambush because it was too far from the hangar complex for gunfire to be heard, but still he hung back. He was uncertain about approaching Jens, and for the first time he wished Lydia were there.

  The prisoners inside the truck were tumbling out, blinking hard in the rear car’s headlights and clutching each other as if they feared they would be snatched away. Some were crying; one was shouting abuse at their rescuers. The vory had no interest in them but prodded them into a group the way someone would herd diseased cattle in an abattoir. Alexei spotted Jens Friis easily. He was taller than the rest and stood apart, ignoring the men in black who had stopped the convoy, scanning the darkness, searching the cars, the road, and the dense mass of trees for something. Or someone.

  Lydia. Jens wanted Lydia.

  His appearance came as a shock to Alexei. The red hair was gone and in its place was a thick white mane. Even though Lydia had told him about it, it still jarred, and his face was gaunt and weathered, his jawline set hard. Only the way he carried himself was the same. That, and the mouth. Whatever else had died in Jens Friis, the gentle lines of his mouth had survived and tempted Alexei to rush over and embrace him. But he recalled the coolness of the letter.

  “Thank you, spasibo.” One thin woman kissed Igor’s hand and set off on her own down the road in the direction away from the hangars.

  “Don’t be damn stupid,” a short man shouted after her. “They’ll hunt you down and shoot you.” He swung around angrily to the rest of the group. “We’ll all pay for this if she leaves.”

  “Maybe this is a test of our loyalty,” another shouted.

  Others joined in.

  “Let’s leave. This is our chance.”

  “No, we’ve been promised our freedom.”

  “We can stay here and go on working for them or we can escape. Decide quickly.”

  What would Jens do? Would he cling to his monster?

  Where was he? The white mane had vanished. Where? Alexei started
to stride rapidly toward the group, who reacted with shock at the sight of his uniform, but just then an engine roared into life. The rear car, the one with the dead soldier in its passenger seat and its door hanging open, lurched violently off the dirt road and veered into the black world beneath the trees. It was traveling at speed and its headlamps carved a dangerous zigzag path between the looming trunks. There was a nerve-scraping screech of metal as the door was ripped off its hinges.

  “Jens!” Alexei bellowed.

  A slight figure came hurtling out of the darkness. It was Lydia running onto the road just in time to see the NAMI-1 charge back out of the forest on the far side of the barrier of the fallen pine. For a moment its wheels scrabbled and spun on the dirt as it struggled to regain the road, and its engine threatened to stall, and then it was off at full throttle toward the hangar complex.

  “Jens!” Alexei roared again.

  Lydia looked from her brother to the car disappearing into the night, and the expression on her face froze into one of despair.

  “Papa!” she screamed. “Papa!”

  “HE’S GONE. HE DROVE OFF. I DIDN’T EVEN SEE HIM, HE WAS SO eager to get back to his monster.”

  They were deep among the trees and Chang couldn’t make out her face in the pitch dark, but he could hear her voice. That was enough. He drew her to him, held her close, and kissed her cold cheek.

  “That’s why we’re here, my love. In case anything went wrong with your brother’s plan.”

  Her head jerked back to look at him, but her face was no more than a pale blur with black holes. It looked unnervingly like a skull and sent a cold finger of dread down his spine, so that he swore fiercely at his gods under his breath. Don’t let it be an omen.

  “We go after him?” she asked. Her voice had changed. It was Lydia’s again.

  “If that’s what you wish.”

  For answer she kissed him full on the lips.

  Out of the undergrowth a lumbering black form rose noisily to its feet, smelling no better than a bear, and growled, “So what are we waiting for?”

  It was Popkov.

  THE STEERING WHEEL KICKED AND BUCKED IN JENS’S HANDS. He knew he was driving too fast over the rough road. Something could break. He wasn’t used to cars. Years ago in St. Petersburg he’d owned a glorious gleaming Buick, and twice in twelve years he’d been called on to drive a truck in the timber yards. But this army car handled like an ill-behaved dog, pulling hard one moment, unresponsive the next. So he just jammed the pedal to the metal floor and kept it there.

  He had to get there fast before those hard-faced rescuers took it into their heads to come after him. He should be grateful to them, he knew he should, but he wasn’t. Dear God, those people had risked their lives! Good Russian men had died. Oh, my dearest Lydia, why weren’t you there? I looked for you. As he plowed through the forest, he wondered what the other scientists and engineers would do now. Escape? Olga would, Jens was certain of that. But not Elkin. Maybe those who realized the alternative was . . .

  A branch loomed out of the darkness and smashed against the windshield, cracking one end of it. He was skidding all over the road, but he kept his foot down and raced toward the yellow glow that was forming in the distance. An imitation sun. Jens grimaced. Such an illusion, as if the Soviet machine heralded a new dawn.

  “DOKUMENTI? IDENTITY PAPERS?”

  The soldier had come out of his sentry booth beside the gate with his rifle pointing straight at Jens’s head.

  “I am one of the engineers who work here. I have no papers. Listen to me, the truck bringing us here was attacked in the forest.” Jens revved the engine impatiently. “Open the gates. Bistro. Quickly.”

  The soldier stepped back into his booth and spoke for half a minute into a telephone. Immediately the gates jerked open and Jens drove in. For one terrible half-minute he’d believed they would refuse him entry, but no, he was in. He studied the compound with different eyes this time, at the slow sweep of the searchlights as they probed the early-morning darkness, at the uniformed figures rushing around like chickens as word spread of the attack.

  He was dragged into a stark room he’d never been in before, interrogated by an officer whose mouth remained in a severe line but whose blue eyes sparkled at the prospect of action. He dismissed Jens with a wave of the hand when he’d extracted all he could, and abruptly Jens found himself outside in the compound at the center of a hubbub of shouts and orders, soldiers running, while the piercing wail of an alarm siren split the night air like a cleaver.

  The rest was easy.

  “I’ll start work anyway,” he said to his escort.

  “Is that what you were ordered to do?”

  “Yes.”

  He strode off toward the large hangar. The soldier didn’t know what else to do with the lone prisoner, so he was relieved to have the decision made for him. Outside the small door at the side of the hangar patrolled the two men in black who normally hovered like unwanted shadows inspecting the prisoners’ every action with narrow-eyed interest. But today they waved him inside without following. Their spectacles glittered as the searchlight struck them, and Jens saw them smile for the first time. Not at him but at the frantic commotion of their comrades.

  Jens knew he had to move quickly. The biplanes first. He ran the length of the vast hangar, refusing to look up at the beautiful silver creature that floated above his head, and hurried through the doors to the smaller hangar attached at the rear. It was bitterly cold inside, like walking into an ice room, the electric lights dim and gloomy because some of the bulbs had cracked overnight. It was always happening. He studied the two wood-and-canvas biplanes with affection and stroked a hand along one of the lower wings. Its skin felt almost human under his fingers.

  “You’ll soon warm up,” he said, and heard the sadness in his voice.

  He hesitated. For a second his decision wavered. He could turn back now; it wasn’t too late.

  “Lydia, would you think worse of me if I did?” he murmured. “You know from my letter what I’ve done, and yet still you came today.”

  Suddenly without warning the generosity of her love overwhelmed him, and for the first time in more years than he could remember, tears welled in his eyes. He felt a rawness in his throat. A tightness in his chest. No, no turning back. Better this way. He couldn’t let the men of Surkov camp die. From his pockets he drew two sleeves that he’d torn from his spare shirt. He walked over to a green metal drum of aviation fuel in the corner of the hangar, unscrewed the cap, and dipped half of each sleeve into the liquid inside. The fumes made his head ache. Or was that the sorrow?

  It took no more than five seconds to finish the job. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and flicked up a flame, touching it to one sleeve and then the other. When they were burning like torches, he threw one into each of the open cockpits of the planes and instantly they crackled. Flames licked up the seats like greedy tongues.

  He stood there for only a couple of seconds, watching his gleaming hopes burn. Then he headed for the airship.

  Fifty-three

  “ARE YOU COMING, ALEXEI?”

  “No, Igor. You go. I’ll tidy up here.”

  “Tidy up?” Igor looked around at the carnage on the forest floor. “Leave the bastards for the wolves.”

  “You go, Igor,” Alexei said again. “You’ve done your job well. I’ll report to Maksim.”

  “Our pakhan wants to know you are safe. I am ordered to bring you back to him.”

  Igor’s words were courteous, but Alexei had no doubt what was really in this vor’s mind. He was astonished that one of Igor’s bullets hadn’t already strayed his way during the confusion.

  “Thank you, Igor. But go home. I am aware that their army retaliation units will soon be here in force.”

  Alexei turned his back on the thief and bent down to check on the first of the dead who were strewn across the road. The forest was silent now, just the wind jostling the branches, and as he crouched he could feel
it leaning in on him, snuffling his neck, its breath stinking of rotten wood and death. Battlefields were always sorrowful places, but a battlefield after a meaningless empty little battle was enough to rip a man’s heart out, especially if you were the one who had engineered it.

  The others had gone, the living. The prisoners who decided to escape had changed the flat tire on the truck and driven off on an uncertain path through the forest. Those who were stupid enough to believe they would gain credit for their loyalty had set off huddled together, nervously aiming for the hangars and a lifetime of imprisonment at best. The vory had faded away like rats in the night, leaving only Igor.

  “Go home, Igor.”

  But when he looked up this time, the thief had gone and the road was empty. Just the black shape of the first car remained, its headlamps as pointless as the battle had been. With care he felt the pulse of each soldier and when he found none, he closed their eyes and their mouths, removed their rifles, and arranged their limbs in attitudes of peace instead of violence, as if he could cheat the devil of their souls. At one point he thought he heard something and swung around, peering into the shifting breathing darkness.

  “Lydia?”

  No response.

  “Lydia?”

  But there was no one. After their father had driven off, the car veering wildly as it bucked out of control from rut to rut, skidding on the packed snow, she had wasted no time.