Stroika

by Mark Blair

  The Soviet Union writ large, thought Viktoriya. No wonder Federov was so keen to secure the place, and thank God for Yuri. Between him and Ivan it had taken less than ten days to assemble a small army, kit them out and put them in position.

  ‘Comrade director says that requisitioning spare parts is futile; he’s been doing so for months. The only thing it generates is more paperwork – not what he needs.’

  ‘Ivan, just tell him to give you the list,’ said Misha. ‘We’ll sort it out, bring in the parts from Europe. It’ll be much quicker, and tell him to get hold of some contract engineers. Put them on our payroll. Let’s get this refinery up and running. Who knows how long we’ll have to benefit.’

  The sums they were looking at on the trading side were enormous if they could get back to anything like the capacity levels Federov had told them had been achieved two years before; sinking some of their profit into improving their return would be a small price to pay. Besides, Federov had even hinted that he might get the ministry to cover the cost ultimately, but first things first, thought Viktoriya.

  ‘I’ve LF setting up the transport depot as we speak,’ said Viktoriya, ‘on the outskirts of Smolensk, courtesy of Federov. I’ll fax you the details. I’m positioning the first five freighters there this week, more next. They’ll need security.’

  Smolensk was no safer than any other city.

  October 1989

  Chapter 34

  Smolensk

  Yuri sat enjoying a drink at his favourite bar in Smolensk with Viktoriya sitting on the bar stool opposite. Combining a visit to the Western District with Viktoriya’s visit to the Leningrad Freight depot seemed like a good plan.

  ‘Bring back memories, General?’ she said smiling. Two girls at the far end of the bar had been making eyes at him for the past ten minutes.

  ‘Not much changes round here… fortunately.’

  ‘I’m sure. How long were you stationed here?’

  ‘Eighteen months.’ Eighteen months, it had seemed more like a lifetime immediately after Afghanistan.

  ‘So…?’ she said, interrupting his train of thought.

  ‘I was thinking how beautiful you are.’

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that, General. I’m not one of those girls,’ she said, casting a glance down the bar. But he could see she was not offended.

  ‘Old habits die hard.’

  Sitting there only inches from her, Yuri wondered if she were seeing anyone. He knew that she and Stolin were no longer, only from what Misha had said, but that was as far as his knowledge went.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you a question?’ he asked.

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘You and Konstantin Ivanivich… no, it’s none of my business,’ he said, suddenly getting cold feet.

  ‘We’re not seeing each other, if that’s the question.’

  ‘Not quite, more why, really, or a how.’

  ‘You mean how a nice girl like me gets involved with someone like him… maybe I’m not so nice.’

  ‘That I can’t believe.’

  ‘It’s complicated. I’ve asked myself the same question… often. He’s smart… good-looking… I always used to feel I could rely on him… he came to my rescue once.’ She looked down at the floor, and Yuri could see she was struggling with her emotions and wished he hadn’t pursued the conversation. She looked back up at him with watery eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Yuri heard himself say. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ she said, wiping her eyes and giving him a broad smile. ‘Kostya and I go back a long way… we were at Ten Year School together, along with Misha and Ivan. You know, I can’t say I had a perfect home life, far from it, but Kostya’s was chaotic. His mother had a series of affairs that his father turned a blind eye to… neither of them were ever at home. It was his older sister, Zoya, who mostly looked after him.’

  ‘How did… do… those two get on together – Misha and Kostya?’ he said, attempting to shift the conversation.

  ‘They don’t, but over the years they’ve learned to maintain a respectful distance… after a few run-ins. I was the common factor, a sort of go-between, keeping the peace.’ She smiled. ‘They are very different. Misha flits from one idea to the next. You’ve met him… a human dynamo… Kostya is much more self-contained; in fact, the most single-minded person I have ever met… and when he focuses on you, he focuses on you. He can be very charming. I was younger then, when I first became involved with him… he was very glamorous… but the one thing I have learned is that Kostya has only really been interested in satisfying one thing.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Himself. We are all means to his ends.’

  They fell silent.

  ‘Enough about me… what about you,’ Viktoriya said with a wry smile.

  ‘Not much to say… men don’t come more superficial than me, I’m afraid… or so I’ve been told… many times.’

  She laughed. He resisted the temptation to reach out his hand and touch her.

  ‘I’m sure… parents, brothers, sisters?’

  ‘Father, retired colonel; mother a teacher – a devoted couple; and younger brother an Aeroflot engineer, married, a son, lives in Moscow… great kid.’

  ‘And you decided to follow in your father’s footsteps?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Always seemed like a good idea. I can’t remember when I didn’t want to be a soldier.’

  ‘And has it lived up to expectations?’

  ‘It has its frustrating moments… but yes, I can honestly say I feel born to it.’

  ‘And have you ever been frightened?’

  ‘Sure…’ Yuri remembered Afghanistan and the first time he experienced incoming, halfway up a mountain pass when mortars rained in without warning. The soldier next to him had been ripped to shreds by scrap metal that had miraculously left him unscathed.

  ‘But you get used to it… most of it… otherwise you couldn’t function.’

  He took a swig of beer.

  ‘You seem very distracted of late. I’m sure you have a lot going on.’

  ‘You could say that,’ said Yuri, and laughed. He hesitated, deciding whether to share his suspicions. ‘I think we are reaching some sort of tipping point.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You saw Roslavi yesterday. Just another example… perestroika isn’t working, not yet… On top of that we have democracy breaking out in Eastern Europe, a new government elected in Poland, anti-communist and anti-Soviet, and now Hungary. If there is an uprising, the general secretary is not going to be the man to put it down…’

  ‘But someone else might, you think?’

  ‘I’ve been wracking my brains on that one. You and Misha will have to watch out. We all will. We’ll be right in the firing line, literally, if someone tries to turn the clock back.’

  ‘In the meantime?’

  ‘Soldier on, that’s what a soldier does.’

  It was as he drew back that Yuri clocked the two men sitting at a table towards the back of the bar observing him. He had subconsciously noticed them before, but it was only now that he became alert to them studying him across the room.

  ‘Excuse me, Vika.’

  He walked over to their table.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked Yuri. ‘You seem overly interested in either me or my friend.’

  ‘Good evening, General,’ said the taller of the seated men. Yuri was not in military uniform. ‘How does it feel to be back in your old hunting ground?’

  ‘What’s that to you?’

  ‘You’ve certainly moved up in the world, General, fame and fortune, not to mention a beautiful… and rich woman, it would be a shame to see that all come to an end because you backed the wrong people.’

  ‘And who precisely are the wrong peop
le,’ said Yuri, feeling his anger rise.

  ‘Anti-Soviet, of course.’

  They had to be KGB, Yuri thought.

  ‘You know what, whoever you are, life is full of threats and opportunities,’ said Yuri. ‘I’ll take my chances. You can tell your boss, from whatever directorate you are from, I won’t be so polite next time I find someone trailing me. Now, I don’t want you spoiling my favourite bar or evening so I suggest you leave quietly or I can always have those soldiers over there assist.’

  The two men got up. The taller of the two took a step forward towards Yuri.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said the other man, placing a restraining hand on his colleague’s arm.

  Yuri watched the two of them cross the bar and exit onto the street. When he turned to find Viktoriya, he discovered her studying him from across the room, a concerned look on her face.

  ‘Well they clearly liked you,’ Viktoriya said when he made it back to the bar.

  Maybe they were closer to that tipping point than he had at first thought. When the KGB started threatening the military, things were indeed coming to a head.

  ‘Dinner?’ he said. ‘They haven’t put me off my food. But not here.’

  Snow had already begun to fall when they headed out, lightly at first but within minutes heavily, covering domes, buildings, streets and the frozen Dnieper itself in a thick white blanket. As it swirled in flurries and eddies around them, Yuri put his arm around Viktoriya in a protective manner, engulfing her in his long great coat. When they finally arrived at the restaurant, Yuri gave her a gentle tug. Wordlessly, they agreed to continue to explore this new wonderland… until the cold finally drove them back inside.

  Chapter 35

  Early morning, two men trudged out from the city centre towards the suburbs along still and mostly deserted snow-covered streets. Others shuffled by, pulling small sledges, embarked on some essential errand, wrapped in padded coats, hoods up, heads down, faces masked by woollen scarves against the sub-zero temperature. Single white flakes drifted slowly past, threatening another major early snow. Snowploughs would eventually do their work but probably not until the next day or the day after that, after the main roads were cleared. Until then, the roads would remain impassable to ordinary traffic.

  The shorter of the two men gripped a small but heavy bag. They had taken turns carrying it, switching it from arm to arm as they crunched along the narrow lanes. Up ahead, they could make out the snow-covered outline of the Leningrad Freight warehouse on the edge of the deserted industrial estate, its east face rising above an adjacent open storage lot. In the snow it looked different to the yard they had reconnoitred the day before, prior to their unfruitful encounter with the general.

  They paused for a moment under the canopy of a snow-covered tree. The small man put down the bag to catch his breath. They stood there, silent, hidden from view for some minutes, looking and listening for sounds of life and security patrols. Only their breath, visible in the freezing air, gave them away. A stray dog appeared, sniffed around their feet and wandered off disinterested.

  ‘What do you think?’ said the shorter one.

  ‘Looks perfect, the place is deserted,’ he replied, looking beyond the warehouse and lot to the derelict windowless building behind.

  Staying close to the building line, they walked the final hundred metres to the entrance of the storage lot. It was secured by a flimsy metal gate tied shut with a padlock and chain.

  ‘Pass me the wire cutters,’ said the taller of the two. He cut a vertical opening in the chain-link wire mesh fence, peeled it back, and, after one final look around, slipped through, his partner close behind. Making their way past building materials and construction equipment in varying states of disrepair, they arrived at a mountain of empty wooden pallets, stacked five metres high, close against the wall of the neighbouring Leningrad Freight warehouse and wooden rafters above.

  ‘Made for the job, I would say,’ said the taller man, looking up at the dry inner layers of timber.

  They wandered around the yard collecting sacking, old paint and fuel cans – anything they thought might burn – and stuffed them roughly between the stack of pallets.

  ‘This’ll teach that general to watch his mouth.’

  ‘I hope they’ve got insurance,’ the smaller man joked as he stepped back a few feet. From the carrier bag he removed a large can of petrol. The taller man, the one had spoken to Yuri in the bar, extracted a lighter from his pocket and ran his thumb over the wheel. He adjusted the flame till it leapt several inches into the air.

  ‘Okay, we don’t want to waste this, so make sure you give the dry wood a good soak,’ instructed the taller man. Petrol fumes tainted the crisp winter air as his partner emptied the can, shaking it vigorously to extract every last drop.

  ‘That’ll do!’ said the man with the lighter. ‘Best move right back now, well away from this lot.’

  The shorter man threw the now empty can into the pallet shelving and stepped back a good twenty feet, close to where his partner stood waiting.

  ‘Here goes then.’

  He hit the flint again. The flame spurted upwards.

  ‘Enjoy the fireworks!’ he said, and took a step towards the tinderbox of pallets.

  Blood and brain splattered the ground as a single rifle shot echoed off the buildings and walls. The lighter flame traced the arsonists fall to the ground, finally extinguishing itself in the snow.

  In an upper window of the derelict building his companion caught the glint of a telescopic sight.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t shoot!’ He threw his hands up into the air and fell onto his knees.

  ‘Stay where you are! Don’t move!’ shouted back the marksman. ‘Or you’ll be as dead as your friend.’

  ‘I’m not moving!’ the arsonist shouted back.

  Kneeling in the snow, his face turned towards the pallets and wall, he heard the crunch of footsteps making their way towards him from the gate. He made to turn around, but a powerful kick to his back sent him sprawling, face forward, into the snow.

  ‘I thought my comrade told you not to move. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ he shouted, as a boot applied pressure to the knuckles of his right hand.

  ‘Put your other hand up where I can see it!’

  From the corner of his eye, the prone man noticed another standing next to the man that kicked him, a man in a military coat. He caught the faint citrus scent of his aftershave.

  ‘You were right, General. You thought they might try something,’ said Ivan.

  Ivan waved at the sniper in the upper window.

  Yuri bent down and turned the dead man over. The bullet had exited through his nose, shattering most of his cheekbone and eye socket, but he was clearly recognisable as the man in the bar.

  ‘Get him up,’ said Yuri, indicating the man slowly freezing in the snow.

  Ivan grabbed the would-be arsonist by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to his feet.

  ‘I won’t insult my intelligence or yours by asking who sent you. As you see, I’m not entirely surprised to see you.’

  ‘We all take orders, General, although this little bonfire was a bit of unplanned arson’

  Yuri raised his pistol and shot him in the forehead. ‘There’s no doubting his boss will get the message now.’

  Chapter 36

  Leningrad

  ‘Good evening, Viktoriya Nikolaevna,’ greeted the concierge as Viktoriya walked into the lobby of her apartment building.

  The journey back from the airport had taken well over an hour, and she was looking forward to a glass of wine and running a hot bath. Standing in front of the lift door she absentmindedly watched the indicator light describe its downward journey.

  ‘Your electrician called in earlier.’

  At first she thought the concierge wa
s talking to someone else.

  ‘What electrician?’ Viktoriya said, jolted out of her thoughts.

  ‘He said you had some urgent electrical work needing doing,’ the concierge replied. He looked uncomfortable. ‘When I queried him, he showed me a typed order with your name and address on it.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have checked the log? I hadn’t informed you of any such call,’ Viktoriya said angrily, doubly irritated by the concierge talking to her legs.

  ‘When he showed me the order I thought you had just forgotten. I’m sorry. He left a few hours ago.’

  Viktoriya headed back out through the revolving door onto the street and waved at her security detail parked across the street. Two men jumped out and jogged over to where she was standing.

  ‘We’ll go up and check,’ said one of the men when she had explained what had happened.

  ‘Why don’t you wait down here in reception?’ said Vladimir, one of her more permanent bodyguards.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Misha wouldn’t be very happy if he found out.’

  ‘Are you more frightened of Misha or me?’

  The two men looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Okay, but you stay behind us.’

  The two extracted their automatics from under their black leather jackets.

  ‘I hope there isn’t going to be any shooting,’ said the concierge somewhat bravely when she reappeared in the lobby, this time with two armed men.

  ‘I hope so too,’ said Viktoriya.

  Her apartment was on the fourth floor. Rather than take the lift, they climbed the staircase that wound its way around the lift shaft to her landing. She fished out the front door key from her bag and handed it to Vladimir while the other man checked for obvious signs of wires or booby-traps. He shook his head signalling the all-clear and released the safety catch of his gun, ready to cover his partner. Vladimir inserted the key, turned, and pushed the door wide.