“Where did you agree to meet Uncle Kolya?” he asked, responsibility once again changing hands.
“Head toward those two cranes,” said Elena, pointing to the far end of the dock. “Whatever you do, Alexander, don’t mention what just happened to your uncle. It’s better that he doesn’t know, because as long as everyone thinks he was at the match, there will be no way of connecting him with us.”
As Alexander led his mother toward dock 3, her legs felt so weak she could hardly place one foot in front of the other. Even if she had considered changing her mind at the last moment, she now realized they had no choice but to try and escape. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She kept her eyes on the two idle cranes that Kolya had said would be their signpost, and as they drew nearer, they saw a lone figure step out from behind two large wooden crates by the entrance of a deserted warehouse.
“What kept you?” Kolya demanded anxiously, his eyes darting in every direction like a cornered animal.
“We came as quickly as we could,” said Elena, without explanation.
Alexander stared down into the crates to see half a dozen cases of vodka neatly stacked in each one. The agreed tariff for a one-way trip to …
“All you have to do now,” said Kolya, “is decide whether you want to go to America or England.”
“Why don’t we let fate decide?” said Alexander. He took a five-kopek coin from his pocket, and balanced it on the end of a thumb. “Heads America, tails England,” he said, and flipped it high into the air. The coin bounced on the dockside before coming to rest at his feet. Alexander bent down and looked at the image for a moment, then picked up his mother’s suitcase and his lunch box and put them in the bottom of the chosen crate. Elena then climbed inside, and waited for her son to join her.
They crouched down and clung to each other as Kolya placed the lid firmly back on top of the crate. Although it took him only a few moments to hammer a dozen nails into the lid, Elena was already listening for another sound. The sound of heavy boots heading toward them, the lid of the crate being ripped off, and the two of them being dragged out to face a triumphant Major Polyakov.
Kolya tapped the side of the crate with the palm of his hand, and suddenly they felt themselves being yanked off the ground. The crate swung gently from side to side as they were lifted higher and higher into the air, before it began its slow descent toward the hold of one of the ships. Then, without warning, the crate landed with a thud.
Elena could only wonder if they would spend the rest of their lives regretting not climbing into the other crate.
BOOK TWO
4
SASHA
En route to Southampton
Sasha heard a firm rap on the side of the crate.
“Anyone in there?” asked a gruff voice.
“Yes,” they both said, in two different languages.
“I’ll be back when we’re outside territorial waters,” said the voice.
“Thank you,” replied Sasha. They heard the sound of heavy boots fading away, followed a few moments later by a loud bang.
“I wonder—”
“Don’t talk,” whispered Elena, “we need to conserve our energy.” Sasha nodded, although he could hardly see her in the darkness.
The next noise they heard was the rumbling of a vast piston turning over somewhere below them. This was followed by a feeling of movement as the ship eased away from the dock and began its slow progress out of the harbor. Sasha had no idea how long it would take before they crossed the invisible line that maritime law recognizes as international waters.
“Twelve nautical miles until we’re safe,” said Elena, answering his unasked question. “Uncle Kolya told me it should take just over an hour.”
What’s the difference between a land mile and a nautical mile, Sasha wanted to ask, but he remained silent. He thought about his uncle Kolya, and could only hope he would be safe. Had anyone found Polyakov yet? Was he already wreaking revenge? Sasha had told his uncle to start a rumor that his friend Vladimir had masterminded the escape, which he hoped would derail Vladimir’s chances of joining the KGB. He thought about his homeland, and what he would miss most, and even wondered if Zenit F.C. had beaten Torpedo Moscow and lifted the Soviet Cup.
It felt like far longer than an hour before they heard the heavy footsteps returning. Another tap on the side of the crate.
“We’ll have you out in no time,” said the same gruff voice.
Sasha gripped his mother by the arms as they listened to the sound of nails being extracted one by one. Finally the lid was raised. They both took a deep breath, and looked up to see a short, scruffy man dressed in grubby overalls grinning down at them.
“Welcome aboard,” he said after checking to make sure the six cases of vodka were in place. “My name’s Matthews,” he added, before offering Elena his arm. She stretched stiffly for a moment before grabbing his arm and climbing unsteadily out of the crate. Sasha took the small suitcase and his lunch box, and handed them to Matthews before joining his mother.
“I’ve been told to take you both up to the bridge so you can meet Captain Peterson,” said Matthews, before leading them to a rusty ladder attached to the side of the hold.
Sasha picked up his mother’s case, and was the last to climb the ladder. With each rung, the sun shone brighter, until he was looking up at a cloudless blue sky. When he finally stepped out on deck, he paused for a moment to look back at the city of his birth for what he both hoped and feared would be the last time.
“Follow me,” said Matthews, as two of his crew mates began climbing down into the hold intent on claiming their bounty.
Elena and Sasha followed Matthews toward a spiral staircase that he began to climb without looking back. They quickly followed like obedient spaniels, and moments later stepped out onto the bridge, feeling slightly giddy.
The helmsman standing behind the wheel didn’t give them a second look, but an older man dressed in a dark blue uniform, with four gold stripes on the arm of his double-breasted jacket, turned around to face the stowaways.
“Welcome aboard, Mrs. Karpenko,” he said. “What’s the lad’s name?”
“Sasha, sir,” he replied.
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ Mr. Peterson, or skipper, will be fine. Now, Mrs. Karpenko, your brother told me you’re a fine cook, so let’s find out if he was exaggerating.”
“She’s the finest cook in Leningrad,” said Sasha.
“Is she indeed? And what do you have to offer, young man, because this isn’t a pleasure cruise. Everyone on board has to pull their weight.”
“He can serve at table,” said Elena before Sasha had a chance to reply.
“That will be a first,” said the captain.
It certainly will, thought Sasha, who’d never been inside a restaurant in his life, and apart from clearing the table and washing up after supper, was rarely to be found in the kitchen.
“Is the cabin next to Fergal’s free, Matthews?” asked the captain.
“Yes, skipper, but it’s hardly big enough for two.”
“Then put the boy in with Fergal. He can sleep on the top bunk, and his mother can have the spare cabin. Once they’ve unpacked,” he added, glancing down at the small suitcase, “take them to the galley and introduce them to the cook.”
Sasha noticed that this statement brought a smile to the lips of the helmsman, although his eyes remained fixed on the ocean ahead.
“Aye, aye, captain,” said Matthews. Without another word he led his charges back down the spiral staircase and onto the main deck. Once again Sasha stared toward the distant horizon, but there was no longer any sign of Leningrad.
They followed Matthews back across the deck, and descended an even narrower staircase to the bowels of the ship. Their guide led them down a dimly lit corridor, coming to a halt outside two adjoining cabins.
“This is where you’ll be sleeping during the voyage.”
Elena opened the door of her cabin and looked
up at a swinging bulb that threw a small arc of light onto a narrow bunk. The rhythmic thumping of the ship’s engine guaranteed that even if she hadn’t slept for the past week, she certainly wasn’t going to for the next one.
Matthews opened the next-door cabin. Sasha stepped inside to find a double bunk that took up almost the whole space.
“You’ll be on top,” said Matthews. “I’ll be back in half an hour, when I’ll take you up to the galley.”
“Thank you,” said Sasha, who immediately climbed onto the top bunk. It wasn’t any better than his bed in Leningrad. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d chosen the right crate.
* * *
“Now listen up,” someone shouted, “because I’m only going to say this once.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face the chef, who was standing in the center of the galley, hands on hips.
“We have a lady on board, and she’ll be working with us. Mrs. Karpenko is a trained cook, who has a great deal of experience, so you will treat her with the respect she deserves. If any one of you puts a foot out of line, I’ll chop it off and feed it to the seagulls. Do I make myself clear?” The nervous laughter that followed suggested that he did.
“Her son, Sasha,” continued the chef, “who is also traveling with us, will be assisting Fergal in the dining room. Right, let’s all get back to work. We have dinner to serve in a couple of hours.”
A thin, pale young man with a shock of red hair strolled across the galley and stopped in front of Sasha.
“I’m Fergal,” he said. Sasha nodded, but didn’t speak. “Now listen up,” he added firmly, placing his hands on his hips, “because I’m only going to say this once. I’m the chief steward, and you can call me ‘sir.’”
“Yes, sir,” said Sasha meekly.
Fergal burst out laughing, shook his new recruit by the hand, and said, “Follow me, Sasha.”
Sasha followed him out of the galley and up the nearest staircase. “So what am I expected to do?” he asked once he’d caught up.
“As you’re told,” said Fergal when he reached the top step. “Our job is to serve the passengers in the dining room.”
“This ship has passengers?”
“Only a dozen. We’re a cargo vessel, but if you have more than twelve passengers, you’re registered as a cruise ship. The company does own a couple of ocean liners, but we’re part of their cargo fleet,” he added as he pushed open a door and entered a room containing three large circular tables, each with six chairs.
“But there are eighteen places,” said Sasha. “You said—”
“I can see you’re sharp,” said Fergal with a grin. “As well as the twelve passengers, there are six officers who also eat in the dining room but sit at their own table. Now, our first job,” he added, pulling open a drawer in a large sideboard and extracting three tablecloths, “is to lay up for dinner.”
Sasha had never seen a tablecloth before, and watched as Fergal skillfully cast one over each of the three tables. He then returned to the sideboard, took out matching cutlery, and began to set each place.
“Don’t just stand there gawping. You’re my assistant, not one of the passengers.”
Sasha grabbed some knives, forks, and spoons and began to copy his mentor, who double-checked each setting, making sure everything was lined up and in its correct place.
“Now, the most important job you’ll be responsible for,” Fergal said once he’d added two glasses to each place setting, and a salt and pepper pot in the center of the table, “will be to organize the dumbwaiter.”
“What’s a dumbwaiter?”
“You. But we luckily have a more useful example over here.” Fergal walked across to the far side of the room and opened a small hatch in the wall to reveal a square box with two shelves and a thick rope on one side. “This goes down to the kitchen,” he said as he pulled the rope, and the box disappeared. “When chef is good and ready, it will be sent back up with the first course, which you’ll place on the sideboard before I serve it. You don’t speak to anyone unless they speak to you, and then only if they ask you a question. At all times, address the guests as sir or madam.” Sasha kept nodding. “Now, the next thing we have to do is find you a white jacket and a pair of trousers that fit. We can’t have you looking like some sea urchin that’s been washed up on the beach, can we?”
“Can I ask a question?” said Sasha.
“If you must.”
“Where do you come from?”
“The Emerald Isle, to be sure,” said Fergal. But Sasha was none the wiser.
* * *
The cook glanced across at Elena, who was making a sauce from some leftovers. “You’ve done that before,” he said. “When you’ve finished, would you prepare the vegetables, while I concentrate on the main course?” He looked up at a menu pinned to the wall. “Lamb chops.”
“Of course, sir,” said Elena.
“Call me Eddie,” he added, before making his way across to the fridge and removing a rack of lamb.
Once Elena had prepared the vegetables and arranged them in separate dishes, Eddie inspected them. “Good thing you’re leaving us when we dock in Southampton,” he said, “otherwise I might be looking for a job.”
I will be looking for a job, Elena wanted to tell him, but satisfied herself with, “What would you like me to do next?”
“Take the smoked salmon out of the fridge and prepare eighteen portions. Once you’ve done that, put them in the dumbwaiter, ring the bell, and send them up to Fergal.”
“The dumbwaiter?” said Elena, looking puzzled.
“Ah, at last something you don’t know about.” He smiled as he headed toward a large square hole in the wall.
* * *
A buzzer sounded.
“First course on its way up,” said Fergal, and a few moments later, six plates of smoked salmon appeared. Sasha placed them on the sideboard before sending the dumbwaiter back down. He was unloading the last three plates of salmon when the door opened and two smartly dressed officers walked in.
“Mr. Reynolds, the chief engineer,” whispered Fergal, “and the purser, Mr. Hallett.”
“And who’s this?” Mr. Reynolds asked.
“Sasha, my new assistant,” said Fergal.
“Good evening, Sasha. I believe we have you to thank for half a dozen cases of vodka, which I can assure you the ratings will appreciate.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sasha.
The door opened again, and the passengers began to trickle in one by one and take their places.
Sasha never stopped pulling the rope up and down, before placing the contents of the box on the sideboard. Fergal served the fifteen men and three women with a relaxed charm that the chef assured Elena came from regularly kissing the Blarney Stone. Something else he had to explain to his new assistant.
An hour later, after the last diner had departed, Sasha collapsed into the nearest chair and said, “I’m exhausted.”
“Not yet, you aren’t,” said Fergal, laughing. “Now we have to clear up before re-laying the tables for breakfast. You can start by hoovering the carpet.”
“Hoovering?”
Fergal gave him a short demonstration on the strange machine before returning to lay the tables. Sasha was fascinated by the vacuum cleaner, but didn’t want to admit he’d never seen one before, although it couldn’t have been more obvious as he bumped into chairs and table legs. Fergal let him become familiar with it, while he laid eighteen places for breakfast.
“That’s it for today,” said Fergal, “so you can shove off now.”
Sasha made his way back to the sleeping quarters and knocked on his mother’s door. He didn’t enter until he heard her say, “Come in.” The first thing he noticed when he walked into her cabin was that she had unpacked both her suitcase and his lunch box. He also thought the room looked far tidier than he remembered.
“What’s it like being a waiter?” was her first question.
“You never s
top moving,” said Sasha, “but it’s great fun. Fergal seems to have them all under control, even the captain.”
Elena laughed. “Yes, chef told me he’s broken several hearts over the years, and only gets away with it because the passengers are rarely on board for more than a fortnight.”
“What’s the chef like?”
“An old pro, and so good at his job that I can’t understand what he’s doing on a small ship like this. I would have thought the Barrington Line could have put him to far better use on one of their cruise liners. There has to be some reason why they haven’t.”
“If there is,” said Sasha, “Fergal will be sure to know, so I’ll find out long before we reach Southampton.”
5
ALEX
En route to New York
When Alex heard the cargo hold close and the boat ease away from its moorings he began to hammer on the side of the crate with a clenched fist.
“We’re in here!” he shouted.
“They can’t hear you,” said Elena. “Uncle Kolya told me the hold won’t be opened again until we’re well outside Soviet territorial waters.”
“But—” Alex began, then simply nodded, although he was beginning to understand what it must be like to be buried alive. His thoughts were interrupted by the unsteady rumbling of an engine somewhere below them, followed by movement. He assumed they must at last be making their way out of the harbor, but he had no idea how long it would be before they were released from their self-imposed prison.
Alex had hoped to be going to a football match with his uncle that afternoon, and ended up in a crate with his mother. He prayed to whatever gods there were that his uncle would be safe. He assumed that Polyakov had been found by now. Was he even trying to have the ship turned around? He’d told his uncle to start a rumor that his friend Vladimir had helped him to escape, which he hoped would end Vladimir’s chances of joining the KGB. He began to think about what he’d left behind. Not a lot, he concluded. But he would have liked to know the result of the match between Zenit F.C. and Torpedo Moscow, and wondered if he ever would.
Heads You Win Page 4