Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side

by Elizabeth Audrey Mills

  "I sent all the employees home," he declared, "so that we can talk about the progress of our government contracts without all the din and bustle. It is a very noisy place."

  I stopped walking, and he and his little entourage had to stop too, bumping into each other at the unexpected arrest of motion. I looked around the cavernous building, with its high, dirty roof and its oily machinery scattered like a child's building bricks discarded on the floor.

  "I appreciate your thoughtfulness," I commented, dryly. "Are there no workers on the site at all?"

  He shook his head. "Come to my office, and I will show you our production records; I am sure you will be impressed."

  "Hmm," I said, distrustfully, meeting his eyes, and widening mine. "I'm sure I will."

  'And how very convenient for you that I cannot speak to any of your employees,' I thought. He was willing to sacrifice several hours of lost production, just to prevent me talking to the workers ~ he must be hiding a great deal.

  "As you know, Mr Degtyarev, I am here to represent the Council," I said as we stood in his office looking at a wall-chart displaying the progress of the various orders flowing through the factory. "They are concerned that several of your government contracts are behind schedule."

  "It has become very difficult to get materials," he countered. "The steelworks are very slow in delivering what we need, and sometimes the quality is so poor that I have to send whole loads back to them."

  That was reasonable. Many industries were suffering disruption by the White resistance, and I knew that steel production was one of them.

  "Will you explain this chart for me please, Mr Degtyarev?"

  "Why yes, of course," he effused.

  He pointed to the lines of varying lengths that were drawn on it. "Each line represents an order, from the time it is received (here, for instance)" he pointed to one line, "... until completed and despatched. Each order is divided (as here, and here, for instance) according to the different stages of production."

  "I see," I said thoughtfully. "And this chart?" I moved to the one beside it.

  "That is for planning machine utilisation," he explained. "Each machine can obviously only work on one job at a time, so we have to plan production to make best use of the equipment."

  "So each line here represents one machine, and the numbers written above the line are the order numbers that correspond to those in the first chart?"

  "Yes," he nodded, surprised that a woman had grasped the concept so quickly. He did not realise that Aleksandra had already briefed me on exactly this kind of thing.

  "There are some lines without numbers," I commented, and pointed. "There is one, with what appears to be a name. What are they?"

  He seemed to be taken by surprise at the question, and took a moment to search his mind for a convincing explanation, but recovered quickly. "They represent downtime. When a machine has to be taken out of production for servicing."

  "I see," I said again. "There are so many of them, and some of the lines are rather long." I turned my head to study his face. "It must be inconvenient having machines out of production for such a long time. You must lose a lot of money."

  He could not meet my eyes, and I knew that he was hiding something.

  "Well," he said slowly, "the men can operate other machines, of course, but the loss of production is, as you say, inconvenient."

  I had seen enough, and was deeply suspicious, but I was reluctant to start a confrontation that I did not feel equipped to handle, so I decided to end the meeting. "My sympathies, Mr Degtyarev," I said with a politeness that I did not feel. "Thank you for your time. I will tell Comrade Kollontai what I have seen today. "

  * * *

  From the dingy engineering works, my hosts drove me to a park, where, beneath a statue of some civic grandee, I again delivered the message of encouragement from Aleksandra. A small crowd listened politely. I did not have her gift for oratory, but my confidence was growing, and they seemed pleased to hear what I had to say.

  Afterwards, as I chatted with one or two union leaders, I saw a woman standing aside from the others. She was middle-aged, with a weathered face ~ not for her the pallid complexion of the factory workers, who were confined to gloomy interiors for all the daylight hours, she looked as though she was used to the outdoor life. She kept looking at me, as though she wished to speak, but seemed nervous to approach. When I looked again, a few minutes later, she was gone.

  Next, I was driven to one of the textile mills. These, I had already discovered, were usually small places, dotted randomly around the towns where they had sprung up, most owned by the same family, usually with a manager appointed to each.

  Union leaders met me and led me into the grey building ~ apparently, my visit did not warrant the attention of the manager. As we walked slowly from one, dust-covered, clanking machine to the next, I was able to speak to the workers, carefully writing down everything they wanted me to report back to Aleksandra. The air was thick with tiny fibres that floated like a fog, immediately irritating my airways and making me cough; the women who worked there told me that the extractor fans, installed by the factory owner on Aleksandra's insistence after her last visit, had lasted barely a year before breaking down, and that workers were dying every day from respiratory problems. They also informed me that children were still employed there, but had been hidden from me by the factory managers, on orders from the owner.

  It was time for me to flex my new muscles; I asked the union leader to take me to see the manager.

  * * *

  As I was admitted to the manager's office with my two bodyguards, he tried to dismiss Alma, the Shop Steward, but I insisted that she stay. He shrugged and waved a hand at two elegant chairs before his desk, a fine, mahogany piece with inlaid leather top. Leo and Stanislav took station beside the door, the three uniformed girls waited in the corridor.

  Vasilyev, the manager, was plump, bald, and well-dressed; there was a smell of cigar smoke in the air. He tried to be effusive, but I could clearly see that he was nervous. Good. I would play on it.

  But he pre-empted me, starting to speak before Alma and I were even seated in the chairs offered. "I hope you're not here to make trouble, Miss Tereshchenko. We are honest, hard-working people here, and I will not allow agitators to march in and stir up resentment."

  "I'm glad you know who I am," I answered, quietly.

  He nodded, his jowls flapping like the wattle of a chicken. "You are Natalie Tereshchenko, former maid to the Tsar, and now assistant to Aleksandra Kollontai. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

  "Oh," I smiled, sweetly, "I am much more than that. I am comrade Kollontai's eyes and ears. While she is busy in one place, I am somewhere else ~ like a newsreel camera, travelling around, peering into corners, asking questions, reporting back." I paused and stared at him, letting my point sink home. But before he could answer, I added: "Tell me about the extractor fans, Mr Vasilyev."

  "Now don't you try to blame me for those," he retorted, his voice becoming louder. "They are an example of the poor quality we have come to expect under this new government. I paid good money for them, and now they are useless!"

  "That's interesting," I said, "because it is my understanding that you worked out a nice cut-price deal with your friend Mr Degtyarev, the owner of the engineering company just down the road."

  He spluttered, his eyes becoming wide beneath his bushy black brows. "Who told you that?" he demanded.

  "Do you think I would arrive here without first getting all the facts?" I said, my smile gone. "Why have they not been repaired?"

  "There are not the skilled craftsmen to be found any more. Ask Degtyarev, he will tell you the same."

  "I'm sure he will. How many of your workers have died so far this year?" I was deliberately jumping from one subject to another, to keep him off balance.

  "What? How do you expect me to know that, off the top of my head?" He was becoming angrier with every word.

  "If you cared, you would wa
nt to know, so that you could prevent it," I countered. I turned to Alma.

  "Four hundred and thirteen," she said, answering the question of my eyes. "Sixty-five of them children."

  "Children?" I repeated, returning my gaze to the manager.

  He leapt to his feet, and I heard my escort behind me swing to readiness. "This interview is over!" he shouted. "Get out of my office at once!"

  I stood up slowly. "I have seen and heard enough, Mr Vasilyev. I suggest that you start asking around among your friends for a job, because I will be recommending, on my return to the Kremlin, that this factory is placed in the hands of the workers, and you can tell that to your employers." I turned my back on him to leave.

  "You will be sorry you crossed me!" I heard him shout to my back. "I have many friends!"

  Leo opened the door for us, and smiled tensely as we sailed out.

  "How did you know he did a deal with Degtyarev?" Alma asked as the door closed.

  "I didn't," I said grimly, "but I'm beginning to understand people like him, and it seemed a fair guess."

  Chapter 21

  ~ Saturday 31st August 1918 ~

  That night I slept poorly in the guest-house. Despite being tired from a busy schedule, my mind would not rest, flitting from events of the day to thoughts of Nizhny, and what I might find, and on, as always, to memories of my beloved Max. The bed was not particularly comfortable, but that was not what kept me awake, staring at the darkness. I was excited at the prospect of perhaps learning something that could lead me to Max, but also afraid that it would turn out to be fruitless.

  Incredibly, it was still less than two months since we first met, yet so much had happened that it seemed longer. I smiled when I remembered how nervous he was when he introduced himself in the garden of the Ipatiev house in Yekaterinburg, and told me that he had been visited in a dream by an angel, Myriam ~ the same Myriam, my guardian angel, who had predicted to me, over a year earlier, that I would find love when I least expected it.

  And I had fallen for Max at once; his soft, deep voice, his kindness and intelligence were just the start. He saved my life, plucking me from the death line in the middle of the night and leading me to his sister's café, where we made love for the first time.

  As I stared into the darkness, I felt again the gentle touch of his hands and lips, and his soft, deep voice singing a Ukrainian folk song. Then we were on the run, fugitives from the gang who had murdered the royal family, led by Alexander Avadeyev and his brutal assistant, the Hungarian, Imre Nagy.

  Perhaps I slipped into sleep, because I saw again the fight on the train, and heard the gunshot that wounded him and forced us to break our journey at Nizhny, to get medical help.

  Where could he be? Had Avadeyev found him? I accepted that I may never find out, but I had to try; and if I could talk to the people who had helped us to slip out of Nizhny, perhaps they could give me some clues.

  * * *

  Bleary-eyed, I was up before sunrise, dressing for our early train. I would not be sorry to leave this dirty town and its corrupt businessmen behind. As I washed my face in the cold water from the jug on the wash-stand, I examined the scar on my forehead ~ healed, but still visible through the soft covering of my re-emerging hair. I would probably carry a mark for the rest of my life (whatever remained of it). Although I had been able to dispense with the bandages for several weeks, I chose to still wear one of my white, knitted hats at all times, so that I looked less like an escaped prisoner. Besides, I was wearing one in my photograph on the posters, so people would expect to see it.

  Tensely, I looked around the room to ensure I had not forgotten anything, then snapped the clasps on my suitcase. Next stop Nizhny, and the start of my search for Max.

  A knock on my door preceded the entry of Stanislav, who had been on overnight vigil outside my door. He effortlessly scooped up the suitcase, and together, we headed down the stairs, picking up Leo from his room as we passed. Outside, two cars were waiting. I waved cheerfully to the four soldiers waiting in one of them ~ Nina, Rada, Sonja and Marya ~ then climbed into the front vehicle with my two burly guards.

  Fifteen minutes later we pulled up at the station entrance, just as the first glow of dawn was spreading across the sky. Stanislav, from the front passenger seat of the car, and Leo, from the back, beside me, jumped out, and stood like sentinels, one on each side of the door, their eyes alert, scanning the area left and right while they waited for me to alight. As I swung my legs out to follow, I saw the girls spilling from the vehicle behind, and running to take positions around me.

  Then a strange thing happened. The last soldier, Sonja, was still running past me as my feet touched the ground, and I watched with surprise when she suddenly twisted as she ran, then stumbled and fell to the ground. At the same moment, I heard a crack, and all eyes turned briefly upwards towards the apparent source of the sound, the roof of a building opposite, where a small puff of grey smoke was drifting slowly upwards in the still air.

  Leo grabbed me, pushing me towards the back of the car, shielding my body with his, while my soldiers dropped to their knees, their rifles pointing up towards the gunman's position. But I was slow, curious, watching over my shoulder as Leo tried to manoeuvre me to safety, and I saw another blossom of smoke appear briefly on the rooftop as a second shot was discharged. There was a metallic 'ping' beside me and a gouge appeared in the paint on the top of my car at the same moment as the sound of the shot reached my ears; I imagined that I felt a puff of warm air on my face as the bullet whizzed away with a sound like an angry bee.

  Losing patience with me for dallying, Leo picked me up bodily and carried me around the car to the shelter of the far side, where he dumped me on the pavement, pushing my head down behind the protective metalwork. Stanislav joined us from the opposite end of the car, a pistol in his hand, peering over the roof.

  By this time, people around us were becoming aware that something was happening, and there were some screams as they ran for the shelter of the station. I raised myself a little and looked up to the roof of the building again, in time to see a figure rise to its feet, briefly silhouetted against the skyline. There was a loud burst of rifle-fire from my army guard, and the figure collapsed.

  The soldiers quickly confided, Nina and Rada ran towards the building, while Marya crouched beside Sonja, administering first aid to a bloody wound in her upper body. Stanislav turned and roughly shoved a way through the cowering crowd for Leo to lead me towards the station entrance.

  * * *

  We reached the big doors, and Leo tried to push me into the shelter of the building, but I squirmed free. "No, the danger is past," I insisted, shaking my head. "The sniper is down. Sonja is my priority now, I will not leave until she is taken care of."

  Reluctantly, Leo left me with Stanislav and began talking to some of the people nearby, eventually dispatching someone who knew of a doctor practising close to the station. I turned suddenly and pushed through the crowd to the ticket desk ~ with Stanislav belatedly following ~ to instruct a clerk to telephone for an ambulance.

  When it was done, he angrily told me off: "How can I do my job if you do not co-operate? You should have told me what you wanted to do." he hissed.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "It was an impulse."

  "You made me look like an amateur," he grumbled.

  I could see his point, and apologised again. "I will try to warn you next time."

  "Next time?" he spluttered.

  Fortunately, Leo returned and the three of us went outside again. We began persuading the crowd to disperse, telling them that the excitement was over, gently but determinedly moving them away from the little body lying in the road.

  I made my way to where Marya was kneeling over Sonja. The girl appeared to be unconscious, a large red stain covering her tunic top, dripping onto the hard surface beneath her, and Marya was pressing a blood-soaked bundle of cloth against the wound to stem the flow. I crouched down beside them, putting my arm around Marya's sh
oulder, and she turned to me, a grim, sad expression on her face.

  "That bullet was meant for you," she said. "Sonja saved your life without even knowing it."

  I nodded. Sonja was unlucky to have intercepted the shot.

  A man, clearly the doctor, arrived carrying a brown bag, bustling through the crowd of onlookers. I moved out of the way, and he began to examine Sonja.

  While we waited, Nina and Rada returned from the building. Nina was shaking her head before I even asked.

  "We found blood and cartridge cases on the roof, by the parapet, but no body and no weapon. The sniper has been removed ~ presumably he had associates."

  Shortly, an ambulance arrived, and we watched as the crew consulted with the doctor. They gently lifted Sonja onto a stretcher and carried her to the back of the vehicle. I wanted to go with them to the hospital, but my team was adamant.

  "You cannot," Leo stated. "There is nothing you can do, and you must continue the journey; people are expecting you."

  Nina nodded her agreement. "Marya can accompany her, then rejoin us later."

  Reluctantly, I agreed, and soon the two girls were on their way to the hospital.

  * * *

  Because of the delay we had missed the planned early train, but it was a frequent service and within half an hour our depleted group was in a carriage rattling its way to Nizhny.

  "It had to be someone paid by Vasilyev, the mill manager," Leo declared as we sat in a huddle, discussing the incident. "I heard his threat as you left his office."

  "Well, perhaps he is the most likely candidate for this attempt," Nina agreed, "but that doesn't explain the two previous attacks."

  I looked at Leo and Stanislav as I added my own thought. "What about Stalin? He is unhappy about me being on the team, and Lenin warned me to beware of him."

  Stalin, as head of Department Thirteen, was their boss. It was his personal creation, and though they had taken good care of me, I could not be certain of their loyalty to me if commanded otherwise. He and Stanislav had already saved my life once, and I was sure they had developed an affection for me, but I had to assume that they would follow orders, no matter what they entailed.