by Henry Morgan
‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’
Justin broke some bread and dipped it into the chowder. From another window could be seen Lake Semyonovskaya, silent and asleep beneath its sheet of winter ice. ‘Very beautiful,’ he agreed.
‘Vasili brought me here last night, to see the lake and then up to the ice palace, while you were in that grubby flat with that whore.’
‘I told you, she wasn’t a whore,’ Justin snapped.
‘Of course she was.’ Sabrina continued eating without regard for his feelings. ‘Why do you think she was with you? Did you give her any money, buy her any drinks?’
‘No,’ Justin lied. He threw his bread into the chowder and pushed away the bowl. He wouldn’t accept any criticism of Catherine and he didn’t want to believe that she had simply given him sex in return for the money he’d given her at the nightclub. ‘Why do you say these things to hurt me? What were you doing if not whoring yourself?’
‘I’ll tell you what I was doing while you had your dick up that whore. I was getting us some proper transport, getting us permission to cross the border without having visas or bunging the guards money to turn a blind eye.’
Justin was intrigued. Sabrina seemed to have limitless energy, and she never ceased to amaze him with her ability to keep going at whatever she was doing, but he had no idea how she could manage to obtain transport and all the other things she was saying when they were in the far north of Russia.
‘How?’ he asked simply.
‘How do you think?’
The woman wearing the fur hat at the next table had a good idea how, but she still leaned closer, rather obviously, in order to catch the details. Sabrina ignored her and continued. ‘I gave him what he wanted, and in return he did the same for me.’ She looked at the large-framed woman and continued her answer, as if for her benefit. ‘You should remember that, Justin. When a woman gets what she wants from a man, she’s a lot more receptive to his advances.’
Despite her shoddy appearance – there were some bald patches in the furs she was wearing – the woman was obviously fully conversant in English. In response to Sabrina’s response she gave a knowing nod of her head.
‘I get nothing from you Justin. That’s why you don’t get between my legs.’ The woman nodded again, but then the door to the Kafe opened and she quickly slinked back in her seat and ignored them.
For a moment Sabrina was puzzled, but the sight of Vasili in his military uniform walking towards their table diverted her mind. She rose from her chair and called out his name, pleased to see him. Vasili reached out and the two of them embraced warmly. At the next table the woman hurriedly rolled a chunk of bread around her own bowl of chowder and left, still chewing her food.
‘How are you?’ Vasili asked politely, then, before she could answer, whispered in her ear, ‘I had a wonderful time last night.’
Sabrina looked Justin straight in the eyes and answered, ‘I had a wonderful time too, Vasili. Thank you for showing me so much.’ The Russian captain then noticed Justin, and Sabrina introduced him, adding that he was a business associate. She then sent Justin to the counter to get more coffee.
The table was empty when he returned but he saw Sabrina outside, leant against a large military all-terrain truck. She was giggling and kissing her captain, and he was responding in kind. Justin put down the coffee, but was forced to pay for them and the chowder before he could leave and find out what was going on.
By the time he made it to the car park Sabrina and Vasili appeared to be near the point they had left hours earlier. He had his hands inside her long coat, while she rested her hands on his shoulders and whispered her gratitude. Next to the truck were two long sleek black cars. Four men in uniform were sitting in the one furthest away, and two soldiers stood dispassionately alongside the other one. Neither of them spoke, but looked straight ahead.
‘Justin, look!’ cried Sabrina when she finally acknowledged him. ‘Vasili has brought us this truck for our trip to Ivalo.’
‘That’s great,’ he said, rather unconvincingly. The Russian missed his disdain and held out some papers. ‘What are these?’ Justin asked.
‘They are official papers that will let you travel between Ivalo and Lotta as many times as you want for one month,’ the officer informed him.
‘That’s really kind of the captain, isn’t it, Justin?’ Sabrina’s voice was testy and left Justin in no doubt that he had to go along with whatever story she had sold him. ‘That’s going to make it so much easier to visit the farms we have to see on this visit. Maybe we’ll get time to do some sightseeing.’
‘I hope so,’ the captain said, obviously pleased with himself. ‘It is good for Russia that you wish to set up this export business, but you must not think of work alone.’ He turned to Sabrina. ‘I have to go to Moscow tonight, so I will not see you for some time. If you leave a message for me at your hotel I will catch you when I get back.’
Sabrina smiled, and deep down felt the added satisfaction of a plan that had worked so well. How easy it had been to fool this peasant soldier and make him her slave too. The captain gave her a peck on the cheek and marched to his car, signalling for the two soldiers to follow him. Sabrina ran her hands along the heavy steel wheel arch and raised a leg onto its high bumper. As Vasili pulled away she pulled back her coat and flashed her legs at him, and the captain smiled and waved.
She waved back. ‘Bye, captain stupid,’ she said, smiling broadly.
‘Well,’ said Justin, after the two limousines had left the car park. ‘Do you know how to drive this thing?’
Sabrina opened the door to the driver’s side and climbed into the vehicle. A moment later Justin climbed into the other seat. ‘It’s all arse about face,’ he opined.
Sabrina was concentrating on the controls. Everything was huge and robust, made from steel or heavy plastic, and the interior smelled of oil and old tobacco. On the cabin floor two levers indicated a two or four-wheel drive option, for road or country driving. ‘How difficult can it be?’ she said, and began pulling some levers. ‘It’s no different from a Land Rover.’
‘Except about twice the size,’ added Justin, unhelpfully.
Sabrina turned a knob and stabbed her thumb into a black push button between the two front seats. Immediately the engine barked into life and coughed out an oily cloud of diesel. ‘Shit or bust,’ she said, and thumped the gear stick into first. The heavy vehicle lurched forward but did not stall, and each looked to the other and smiled as Sabrina took the tank-size truck round the car park, growing more accustomed and confident with each circuit.
‘Where now?’ asked Justin.
‘Back to the hotel to pick up our things,’ she told him. ‘Then off to Gorky’s for that sled. We might need it around Ivalo. Even this monster won’t get us through deep snow.’
‘So we are going?’ Justin asked nervously. ‘You’re really going to go through with it and track David down?’
Sabrina ground her way through the gears and turned onto Prospekt Lenina. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel, and her face was a mask of determination. ‘Of course we are,’ she snapped. ‘I haven’t come this far to turn back now.’
David’s braking sled threw up a small storm of powdery snow. He had taken the coastal route north of the road from Pechenga in order to avoid the mountains and forest to the east of Inan. It meant travelling across windswept tundra and crossing a couple of frozen rivers, but it was quicker in the long run. It also avoided the greedy guards stationed at the Lotta border crossing.
The two days of travelling fatigue lifted at the sight of Murmansk spreading out before him. The afternoon sky was failing and the air carried a threat of yet more snow. To the south of the city a large number of Saami were racing reindeer signalling that the festival, or at least parts of it, were already underway. All three passengers on the sled let out a loud who
op and sped down the hillside towards the nearest hotel.
The hotel Polarny Zony wasn’t the most salubrious of residences but it did have hot water, western mattresses and a toilet to sit on. More importantly, it also had secure lock-ups for ski sleds. David didn’t trust hotel safes; this was a working town first and last and receptionists were known to vanish with a guest’s property, especially after they had naively publicised their wealth by requesting a safe.
When he was satisfied that his amber was locked away from prying eyes he took the girls upstairs and showed them the possibilities that a shared bath presented. Both girls were hot water enthusiasts, constantly soaping each other as well as David. That was another reason why he had chosen the Zony; it had the biggest baths in the Arctic Circle.
A knock resounded at the door and David called out for them to enter. It was room service, and she was carrying a tray holding a silver bucket full of ice. In the ice was a large bottle of vodka and on the tray was an obscenely large Havana cigar, a luxury anywhere in the world, almost unheard of in northern Russia.
David poured a drink for the three of them and allowed Teena to light his cigar while Mishka sucked playfully on his cock. The maid held out a room service check for David to sign without appearing to register the three naked guests cavorting in the tub. The hotel was often frequented by sailors of the Russian northern fleet, or plant workers from the huge Severonikel Kombinat factory at Monchegorsk. They always had money on the hip and that meant business for the hotel and the local working girls. To the maid, only three naked people in the bath was positively decent.
David pulled himself out of the water to sit on the edge of the tub and open the bottle. As he unscrewed the top Mishka continued to lick his hardening prick, helped by her sister’s hand softly squeezing his balls. David poured three shots of icy vodka, and while he sipped his he handed the cigar to Teena and watched as she puffed on the long dark tube. It amused him. ‘You’d look great with a black cock in your mouth,’ he told her. Teena smiled, not understanding what he was saying to her.
When she had pulled on the cigar a few more times she handed it to Mishka and took her place between David’s legs. ‘And so would you,’ he said, as Mishka’s cheeks sucked in the smoke. ‘I bet you two haven’t even seen a black man, have you?’ The girls continued to smile and take turns smoking and sucking, and David took the cigar from them and leaned back against the beautifully decorated tiled wall. He took alternate sips of vodka and puffs on the cigar while the girls took it in turns with his prick. Occasionally they would kiss each other and David noticed that their fingers were busily exploring each other beneath the water.
‘You know,’ he told them, although neither was listening. ‘I think I’d enjoy that; seeing you two with a black dick up you. It’s the colour thing I reckon – them being so dark and you being so pale. I wonder how you’d react if I put a black man on you.’ He blew a large smoke ring towards the ceiling. ‘Not that I’d know where to find a black person up here. Perhaps I’ll take you down south after I’ve traded. It’ll be like a holiday. Yeah, we could do with some travelling.’
He looked down to find both girls totally engrossed in each other. Mishka was leaning out of the bath and the water lapped around her thighs, leaving her bottom in full view. It was pink from the hot water and a line of suds ran around her buttocks, only to be stopped by Teena’s fingers, bringing her to a slippery, noisy orgasm. ‘It looks like you two don’t need a cock to have fun,’ he mused. ‘Black or white.’
He poured himself another shot and allowed the girls to finish, enjoying the noises Mishka was making and the sight of Teena’s hand pumping. Water splashed over the sides of the tub and formed pools on the green tiled floor, and soon a wave of steaming suds travelled the bath in sync with Mishka’s undulating rear. The rhythm continued to build towards the moment, which arrived with a high squeal punctuated with sudden tight gasps. Mishka threw back her head, her face a mask of tortured concentration, her body tensed and her stomach tight. For a whole minute Mishka maintained her taut pose before losing her ability to control her body, then slumped over the bath and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensuous feelings ebbing between her thighs.
David lowered himself back into the water. ‘It’s going to be a good festival,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘And it starts here.’ He moved Teena into the same position that Mishka had just modelled. ‘Hold this,’ he told Mishka, passed her the cigar, and the lovely Lapp relaxed against the side of the bath and took several pulls on it.
She continued smoking and fetched a drink to watch Teena receive David’s cock. There was more spilled water, more pools on the bathroom floor, and more orgasms to experience. David looked around and smiled at Mishka as she lazed with the cigar in one hand and a vodka in the other.
‘Don’t get too relaxed,’ he told her. ‘You’re next.’ He pulled Teena’s hips back and drove his prick further into her slippery canal. ‘I feel fucking great.’
The girls sensed his euphoric state and giggled, and as David fucked Teena over the edge of the bath Mishka flicked water over them and waited her turn.
Despite the Hotel Romanov being one of the more expensive hotels in Murmansk, it was still cheap enough for Sabrina and Justin to keep a room there while they travelled to Ivalo in search of David.
‘Just take what we need,’ she told Justin as they packed, so he threw several heavy jumpers into a rucksack and announced he was ready. Then he asked if she was sure they were doing the right thing, and Sabrina opened the wardrobe and pulled out the Kalashnikov in answer to his question. She slid the gun into its case and collected several magazines, which she packed into her own rucksack.
‘No one fucks with me and gets away with it,’ she growled. ‘No one.’ She threw the rucksack over one shoulder and picked up the long bag containing the gun and winter survival gear. ‘Now, let’s get the bastard and get out of this freezing hell-hole.’
There was a large hamper waiting for them in the hotel lobby. Sabrina opened it and inspected the contents. ‘Where’s the salmon?’ she asked the rather timid receptionist.
‘It is there, madam,’ he answered politely.
‘That’s fresh.’
‘Fresh?’
Sabrina looked at him with contempt and Justin noted how tense she seemed now that they were underway and the excitement of finally doing something was upon them.
‘Fresh?’ the receptionist repeated.
‘Yes,’ she hissed at him. ‘That is fresh. I asked for tins.’
‘Let’s take it,’ Justin said hastily. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘It’ll go off.’
‘Go off?’ repeated Justin. ‘This whole country is like one big fridge.’
‘But we’ll be in the wagon, won’t we?’ She pulled the fish out of the hamper and dropped it on the counter. ‘Tell your boss I’ll pay for one hamper, minus the fish!’
Sabrina was already in the wagon by the time Justin had explained everything to the bemused receptionist. He opened the door and threw in his rucksack. ‘What’s the point on shouting at him? It was a genuine mistake. They were trying to do the right thing.’
‘They couldn’t do the right thing if you drew them a map and shoved it up their arse.’ She fired up the engine and they pulled away, leaving the hotel choking in diesel fumes. ‘Let’s just hope Gorky has kept the sled.’
Justin glanced at the long black case behind them. ‘Yes,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Let’s hope.’
The Friedrich Engels club resounded to the feet of a dozen sailors from the Petrapavlovsk dancing and kicking their feet in the manner of their Cossack forefathers. The sailors performed in a circle, and in the centre of that stood an old seadog, an ancient sailor, playing an equally ancient accordion; its keys were of whalebone and its bellows were made from the leather of a polar bear slaughtered by the maestro’s great grandfather. He stamped
his feet in time with the music and the whole hall joined in with him in celebration of the coming spring.
Around the ring of sailors were numerous other groups, some of only men, some of just women, others of both sexes. David, Teena, and Mishka formed one of the groups and as the music continued to flow, as did the alcohol, so did the number in their party. They danced in the traditional Cossack style, down on their haunches and kicking their feet in time to the music, holding out their folded arms for balance. Occasionally the really good dancers would spin around on one foot before continuing to kick. It was immensely strenuous and extremely exhilarating. Once in a while someone would fall amid peals of laughter, and would then have to pay the forfeit of drinking a shot of vodka before rejoining the dance. Of course, the alcohol would make the dancing more difficult, which would result in more vodka and so one by one the dancing deteriorated, except for the best exponents.
As the afternoon wore on one of the sailors had noticed that Teena and Mishka were with David, but he couldn’t work out who belonged to who. He had no particular preference for one girl over the other, he just wanted to get to know a receptive female and both girls appeared very accommodating. Despite that, after being at sea for the last three months he had no desire to choose David’s wife or girlfriend and end up in a fight. His confusion was compounded when he saw David kissing both girls, and the only reason the sailor could find for all this was that both girls were single after all, and that both were probably working the festival. He therefore decided to plump for Mishka and made his move by grabbing her waist and leading her to a nearby table.