Their Soviet adventure was coming to an end. Jack smiled bitterly. He remembered the old headlines in the New York Times that extolled the virtues of a revolution on the other side of the ocean. The headlines that had captivated Walter and thousands of desperate people like him. The headlines that had ended his life and that of so many others.
He wanted to believe that the hell they were in would end. For a moment, he imagined himself back in America, driving through New York in his new car, wearing a hundred-dollar suit on his way to the latest show. Dancing and smiling again. At least that was something he could aspire to with all the money he had acquired. He felt the rolls of bills that he’d distributed around his coat, some near his heart. As he did so, he felt a void right under it, in the place that Natasha Lobanova was meant to occupy. Natasha, the woman he was in love with.
He prayed that she would change her mind. That she would see that staying in Gorky made no sense, and that she’d come with Yuri to the cabin. He imagined her, radiant, strolling through Central Park with her hand in his, going up the giant skyscrapers to look at the horizon, enjoying life, the two of them together.
The trial would have resumed by now. Viktor Smirnov would be bringing the farce to a close, applauded by the same flunkies who, clearly, had supported him in bringing about Sergei’s downfall. They would present more false evidence of Sergei’s treachery, and Hewitt’s, and his niece’s, and even that of the translator who’d disappeared.
He looked at the Danielses. They had no passports, no savings, no food. Joe Brown shivered under a threadbare blanket. He had only wanted a fair chance at a better life, and now he was freezing and hungry, dreaming of returning to the country where they had called him Negro every day of his life. Miquel hummed a song that Jack guessed came from his homeland. He stroked his red barretina as if it were his most treasured possession. Elizabeth sighed. She hadn’t stopped sighing for a single moment. Surely her uncle Wilbur was dead. Jack pitied all of them, but most of all he pitied himself. He let his body slide down the wall until his backside found the floor. He longed to be with Natasha. He could only hope that Yuri would bring her to him.
They sat in silence for hours, frightened by the bursts of gunfire in the distance. Not long after nightfall, the sound of footsteps put them on the alert. Jack gripped a knife and approached the door. Joe Brown did the same. They waited, holding their breath as the footsteps neared. It sounded like several people. Jack signaled to Joe Brown to get ready. Joe crossed himself. Knuckles rapped on the door. A few seconds later, they heard Yuri’s voice. Jack hoped Natasha was with him, but when he opened the door, he found himself face-to-face with Ivan Zarko. The two men slipped quickly into the cabin. Yuri had a sack of black bread. He opened it and shared out the loaves.
“Do you know anything about the trial?” Elizabeth asked.
Though Jack could guess the answer, he translated the question.
“They’ve sentenced him. Apparently, Stalin’s staying in Gorky until Smirnov has crushed the rebellion, which complicates matters as far as your escape is concerned. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to discuss some details with Jack, outside,” Zarko said apologetically.
After translating his answer, Jack pulled on his ushanka and went out with Ivan and his nephew. Once outside, he asked Yuri about Natasha.
Yuri shook his head. “I tried to persuade her, but it was like talking to a rock. The hospital was full of wounded. Workers shot to pieces, men and women who’d been tortured, burned . . . She spoke to me while she helped a half-dead mother give birth.”
“I’ll go find her.”
“It’s pointless. They’ve issued a warrant for your arrest, and they’re watching her. If you go, in all likelihood they’ll end up killing all of us.”
Jack nodded in resignation. Though he had expected Natasha’s answer, he had held out hope for a different one. He asked Zarko for the passports, but the old man shook his head.
“You said four! One for you, one for the capitalist, one for his niece, and another for the Russian girl.”
“How much would six more cost?”
“It’s not a question of money, Jack. Yours are ready, but the way things are, obtaining more will be impossible. We’d need small photographs, blank passports, new signatures . . . With Smirnov heading the OGPU, any slip would mean the firing squad.”
“How much, Ivan?”
“Too much.”
Jack looked down at the ground. Then he turned toward the cabin, where six souls waited to hear their fate. “Could you get a camera?”
“I guess so, but the problem’s not the photos so much as the passports themselves. Yours are German, but for them we’d need one Spanish and five American. We’d have to order them from Moscow, get the right signatures . . .”
“You find the camera. Maybe we can do something about the passports later on, somewhere else.”
Ivan Zarko shook his head, as if implying that trying to escape without passports was madness. Even so, he agreed to Jack’s request.
“As for the escape route, you mentioned a freight train . . .”
“You have to forget the railway. They’ve fenced off the station and stepped up security with packs of trained dogs. They’re searching every train leaving Gorky from top to bottom.”
“We have the car.” He gestured toward it. “Squeezed in, we could—”
“You wouldn’t make it sixty miles. They’ve set up roadblocks, and the secondary roads are impassible because of the snow. Not to mention the issue of fuel. Your only chance is the Volga. Gorky’s wharves are heavily guarded, but downriver I could arrange passage for you on a barge that could take you to Stalingrad. There we have friends who could keep you hidden until you are able to take another boat to the Sea of Azov. But there’s a problem . . .”
“Yes?”
“There’re too many of you. It will be a risky journey . . .” He made it clear to Jack that their chances of success were slim. “And it will cost money.” He gestured toward the fugitives. “A lot.”
“Damn it! I’ll pay! Forget the money.”
“It’s up to you. I’ll get that camera.”
“One more thing.” He stopped Yuri as he turned away. He took off his ushanka and then the medallion his mother had given him. When he handed the necklace to Yuri, he felt as if he were parting with a piece of himself. “Here. It’s the last favor I’ll ask of you. Give this to Natasha. Tell her that, without love, life isn’t worth living.”
He told his friends not to worry, that Ivan and Yuri would solve their problems and lead them to freedom.
Elizabeth believed him. The rest of them guessed what really awaited them.
Jack sat down and fell silent. Until the last moment, he had hoped that Natasha would come with him, but she had chosen to fight for her ideals. For an instant, he cursed her integrity, her senseless generosity, and her commitment to solidarity. He cursed them from the bottom of his soul. And yet, he couldn’t reproach her for them. She overflowed with honesty, while he, when it came down to it, was just a poor wretch.
He chewed on a piece of black bread and tried to get her out of his mind. He had to forget her once and for all and get used to the idea that he was returning to the United States, perhaps to lead the life he had always wanted alongside a young heiress to a fortune. Her time in isolation seemed to have changed Elizabeth. She now not only accepted her uncle’s fate, but in a moment of weakness, had even suggested some future plans for Jack.
He gave a wry smile. Anyone would envy him in his place. In America a wonderful life awaited him, filled with comfort and enjoyment at the side of a rich, intoxicatingly beautiful woman. A wonderful but empty life.
The whole next day passed without any sign of Yuri and Ivan Zarko. While they waited, Elizabeth huddled next to Jack. She barely spoke, but held on to him, as if she knew he was her only support. At intervals she would ask him whether they would be happy in America, and he said yes without conviction. The hours passed slowly, eac
h of them searching the faces of the others for a glimmer of hope. By midafternoon, they gave up waiting. All they could hear outside was the howling blizzard.
On the third day, Ivan returned with Yuri. They arrived at dawn. Jack had been awake for hours, unable to sleep. Hearing them arrive, he separated himself from Elizabeth and rushed to open the door that he’d jammed shut with a pole. The two Russians quickly came in and woke the rest of the group. Ivan and Yuri told them that they had to begin their escape as soon as possible, as OGPU patrols were now searching the forest for fugitives. They all hurried to get ready. They gathered their belongings and left the cabin in the direction of the outbuilding where the Ford Model A was hidden.
While the rest of them loaded the vehicle, Jack stayed behind to make final preparations for their escape. Ivan Zarko gave him the camera, a map with directions to the river port of Lyskovo, and the name and address of the contact who would hide them.
“He will arrange your passage. In Stalingrad, Oleg will be waiting for you. An old acquaintance. He’ll identify himself and keep you hidden until you can get on the next boat.”
“Thank you for everything. You and Yuri have been true friends.”
“You’ve paid us well for it. Here. The three passports.”
Jack embraced him. He knew the old man was taking risks that no money could compensate him for. When they separated, he put his hand in his overcoat. “What we agreed for the camera and everything else.” Jack handed him four rolls of bills. “And the six other passports?”
Ivan Zarko shook his head.
“All right. We’ll manage,” replied Jack, though he knew that those without passports would never escape.
He climbed into the car and turned the key. Yuri opened the door to the granary. Jack was in a daze, staring down the track and waiting for Natasha to appear at the last moment. A few seconds passed. Elizabeth urged him to start the car. Jack seemed to wake up. He stepped on the button next to the accelerator, and the engine roared into life. He was about to accelerate, when Ivan approached to say good-bye. As Jack lowered the window, Yuri dipped his big hand in a pocket, took out the medallion that Jack had given him to pass on to Natasha, and returned it to him.
“I’m sorry,” said Yuri. “She had decided to come.”
“What?” He thought he had misheard.
“Natasha. She told me there was no need for you to part with your medallion, because she’d already decided that she’d go with you to America.”
“She was going to come? So where is she?” He turned off the engine.
Yuri lowered his head. “We waited for her, but she didn’t show up.”
“What do you mean she didn’t show up? I don’t understand. She agreed to meet you and didn’t arrive? Damn it! Can you explain to me what happened?” He got out of the vehicle.
Yuri avoided eye contact.
“I’m asking you what happened!” He grabbed Yuri by the front of his coat, and the Russian searched for a sign from Zarko of what to do.
The old man approached Jack and made him let go of Yuri. “I warned you not to tell him,” he said to his nephew. He spat on the ground, as if the earth were to blame. Then, biting his lips, he looked at Jack. “They arrested her when she was coming out of her house. It was Smirnov. They’re sending her to Siberia.”
The echo of some distant barking tore Jack from his bewilderment. He didn’t think twice. He asked Joe Brown to take his place at the wheel. Joe didn’t understand. When he told them to leave without him, none of his friends could believe what they were hearing. But Jack remained firm. His eyes were bright with determination.
Neither the Daniels family’s pleading nor Elizabeth’s tears persuaded him. Jack remained outside the car and asked Miquel Agramunt to take care of everyone. “Only you can save them. Don’t let me down.” He embraced the man as if he were saying good-bye to the brother he never had.
Agramunt agreed to do as he said.
Jack gave him the three passports, the instructions for using the camera, and a roll of bills. The barking was growing closer. They could almost smell the dogs. Jack moved away from the car, and they were about to leave when Elizabeth opened the door and climbed out. “I’m staying with you,” she said, trying to hide her tears.
Jack shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. You have to go with them. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“You won’t make it. Do you think I didn’t see you give Miquel the passports?”
“Because of that? Don’t be silly.” He took George McMillan’s passport from his coat and showed it to her. “Do you really think I was going to stay in this filthy country?”
Elizabeth glanced at the document. Something told her not to believe him. “Jack, I’m begging you, get in the car. We’ll be happy . . .” Her red, swollen eyelids hid the beauty of her eyes.
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can! For heaven’s sake, Jack! Do you think I haven’t seen you? It’s because of that woman, right?”
“I have to try.”
“And what will you do? Shout from the rooftops that she’s innocent? Goddamn it, Jack, don’t you see? As soon as you show up, Viktor will kill you.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I can’t leave her.”
“Just think for a moment! When I asked you to help my uncle, you told me yourself it was hopeless,” she implored him. “The Soviets won’t believe you. They wouldn’t believe you even if Viktor screamed a confession at them.” She collapsed to the ground.
Jack was silent. He knew Elizabeth was right, but something inside him more powerful was compelling him to stay. He helped the young woman up and made her get in the car. He kissed her hand and closed the door.
“Go! Drive!”
Joe Brown obeyed. He stepped on the gas, and the vehicle skidded before straightening and heading off down the icy track. When the car was just a dot in the distance, Jack turned to Ivan Zarko, searching for his comprehension, but the man groaned like an old woman.
“What are you trying to do? You know that passport’s worthless,” he said.
“I know.” He tore it into pieces and threw it in a ditch.
“So what’re you going to do?”
Jack let the wind whip his face. “First, make sure you get those people to Odessa alive and well. Passports . . . tickets . . . whatever.” He took all his savings from his overcoat and handed them to Ivan Zarko. “I hope it’s enough.”
Ivan blushed as he counted the money. He had never imagined that Jack could have amassed so much, much less hand it over to him. He stuffed it into his coat and nodded. “Sure, it’s enough. And then?”
Jack gazed at the wheel marks left by the car as it sped off through the snow. He sucked in air and let out a lungful of breath before looking at Ivan with sadness in his eyes. “Then I’ll need your help, one last time.”
41
Jack sat waiting in a corner near the fireplace at his house. Despite the warmth from the embers, he was trembling like a frightened child, though he wasn’t afraid. His shivering was just the product of nervous energy. He knew his ill-fated journey was coming to an end. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Natasha. Gradually, her face materialized. At first it was vague, pale, languid. Then her eyes came to life, a smile spread across her face, and her white hands stroked his face delicately, as they always did. He felt her love. He smiled.
He rubbed his eyes to fight back his exhaustion. He’d worked through the night to get everything ready. His watch showed ten o’clock. Smirnov would arrive soon. He served himself a glass of vodka, drinking it in one mouthful, and waited patiently. Ten minutes later, Smirnov knocked on the door.
“So, you’ve been hiding in this pigsty? I thought you had more taste.” He gave a cynical smile, brushed Jack aside, and entered the house along with his guards.
Jack followed behind them in silence.
“So?” Smirnov went on. “The message you sent said something about some reports and an account number. Where are they?�
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“Somewhere safe,” Jack lied.
“Somewhere safe, of course. And may I ask what you intend to do with them?”
“Nothing special. Just use them to make you release Natasha and confess your crimes.”
“Ha!” As he laughed, Smirnov revealed a row of perfect white teeth. “My crimes . . . You have a lot of nerve for a poor foreigner destined for the cemetery.”
“I can see you still hate the poor. Is that why you got rid of Sergei? So you could enrich yourself at the expense of the Avtozavod? To steal money from the workers?”
“You, wait outside!” he ordered his minions. He drew his revolver and waited for them to obey. When they’d left, he smiled. “Come on, Jack! Have you forgotten that Sergei confessed? It was he who diverted a fortune to Hewitt’s account, and allowed the sabotage to halt production. Luckily, I uncovered him.”
“Would that be the same luck that got you to America under the name Vladimir Mamayev? It’s curious, Viktor, but you were the only man at the Avtozavod who knew enough to cause the defects in the machinery without being detected. The useless Smirnov, who didn’t even know how to tighten a screw.”
“Such a lively imagination! I love it, Jack! I never would have guessed that you were such a marvelous storyteller.” He paced around Jack.
“So, you think I’m making it all up. Fair enough. But then why did you come to my house accompanied by armed men? Stalin’s in Gorky. Don’t you have anything better to do? Wait! Maybe I can suggest something. Perhaps you could be getting rid of any evidence of account 660598865. The account that identifies you as the real issuer of the transfers and the man behind the sabotage at the Avtozavod.”
“Very well. Let’s stop playing games.” He aimed the gun at Jack’s head. “Where are the reports?”
The Last Paradise Page 42