The Russian Lieutenant

by Peter Marshall

  Her flatmate had already gone to work, and she could hardly wait to get to her office and share the news with her closest friends there. Then, in the evening, she went by underground train to visit her parents in Putney to tell them about her new opportunity. Her father, now semi-retired and quite Anglicised, was especially proud to hear of his daughter’s new plans.

  “Not just the navy, but the Royal Navy”, he said over and over again to his wife Shona – who was pleased but also saddened by the prospect of her only daughter moving further away from them. “Your grandfather Viktor would never have believed it possible,” he told them both. Then, turning to his daughter, he asked, “What will you be doing? Will you be on a ship?”

  Marina explained, “Oh no, it’s just an office job in the Dockyard. But when I went for my interview, it looked really interesting. It’s in the section which handles all the communications between the headquarters and the various ships around the world. A bit different from chasing up unpaid council taxes.”

  “That sounds quite important, my dear, and I am sure you will do well. But come back to see us often, won’t you?”

  And they began to share her excitement as Marina went on to tell them all that she had learned so far about Portsmouth.

  During the next month, while working out her notice period in her current job, she read all the research material she could find about Portsmouth and the Royal Navy. Searching on line, she also found herself a first-floor flat to rent in Southsea, just a ten-minute walk from the Dockyard. She phoned the rental agency and fixed a moving date for a few days before starting her new job and then found a “one man and a van” advertising in the local paper. She booked him to take her from London with her belongings to the new flat. It was just what she expected, small but comfortably furnished, with one bedroom and a nice enough view across Southsea Common towards the sea and the Isle of Wight in the distance.

  “This will do very nicely,” thought Marina, who was now in her thirtieth year, a tallish and elegant brunette but still single and preparing to adjust to a new phase in her life. After a quiet weekend of settling in and shopping for essentials, on the following Monday morning, she made the ten-minute walk to the Dockyard ready to start her new career.

  She tried hard to hide her nervous feelings during that first day, which was a series of briefings and familiarisation tours. There were forms to be completed and documents to sign, including the Official Secrets Act, with all due solemnity in the presence of a senior officer. Then over the following days, after a spell of training with the department leader, she found her work in the communications office to be both challenging and all-consuming. During her working hours, she soon learned the fundamentals of the job, and her colleagues were friendly and helpful, often extending invitations for drinks in the evenings.

  The time passed quickly, often making her forget her promise to visit her parents as often as she could. However, in recent times, she had often begun to question her current situation. What did the future hold? She had reached her thirties and was not really living the life she had hoped for. After more than two years in Portsmouth, she was still feeling lonely. Most of her colleagues went home to their husbands or boyfriends. This was what prompted her to try online dating sites – where she discovered Nikolai!

  Was this to be the time when her ship would come home?

  4.

  “DOROGAYA”

  Eventually, the big day came. It was about noon on a Wednesday when Marina stood on the sea wall, waiting for her first sighting of the visiting Russian ships. It was misty in the Solent area as she looked expectantly into the distance, past the four, dark grey, formidable stone Spithead sea forts dating from the Napoleonic wars. And then, at around the time she had expected, she spotted the small group of three ships appearing first as dots in the misty distance and then heading slowly in a line past the Isle of Wight and through the Spithead channel. She gave a tentative wave as the dark grey frigates passed her eager gaze and moved out of sight and into the harbour entrance.

  She had not slept well, through anxiety perhaps, but the sea breeze had helped to awaken her spirits. She had taken the day off from work, and, with her mind spinning, she began to walk briskly towards the Dockyard. Along the way, she recalled the naval history of Portsmouth as she passed Battery Row and Sally Port, then the Cathedral so well restored after its bomb damage in World War Two. Then onwards to the impressively modernistic new development of Gunwharf Quay, with its shops and restaurants, and the soaring and dramatic feature of Spinnaker Tower, a symbolic feature visible from miles away.

  Her walk took her along The Hard and past more historic landmarks such as the Keppels Head Hotel, from where the impressive stone and brick Dockyard gates came into view. As usual, the area was busy with coaches and tourists on their way to view the historic ships, and looming above it all was the towering building which housed the Commodore, his staff and the various administrative departments necessary to manage the work of the Dockyard.

  In its heyday, the docks and jetties were usually full of naval ships, large and small, but the combination of defence cuts and modern naval operations meant there were now large spaces where once there had been aircraft carriers, cruisers, destroyers and minesweepers – either moored or undergoing maintenance in the dry docks.

  Within an hour of arriving in the harbour, the three Russian ships had tied up safely alongside the South Railway Jetty – the place where the cruiser Ordzhonikidze had famously berthed when it brought the Soviet leaders, Bulganin and Khrushchev, to Britain on their official visit in 1956 for talks with Prime Minister Anthony Eden (and where the veteran frogman Commander “Buster” Crabb had lost his life in mysterious and controversial circumstances while trying to carry out a secret spying mission on the ship’s propulsion system).

  Marina was unaware of this piece of Portsmouth’s naval history as she walked on through the activities of a still bustling dockyard, where tourists mingled with vehicles, dockyard workers and sailors. She found her way to the three Russian ships, and there, at long last, was the dark grey shape of RS Admiral Essen.

  A uniformed Russian sailor was standing guard at the foot of the gangway and, in careful, simple English, she enquired about Lieutenant Nikolai Aldanov. He saluted politely as he recognised the name of one of his own officers and called to another sailor on deck. Marina waited, her heart thumping with a combination of excitement and anxiety, as the guard sent a messenger to find him.

  After what seemed like a lifetime, she at last recognised her handsome officer in his smart, gold-braided uniform and peaked hat coming down the gangway to greet her. She had thought a hundred times about this moment and how she would welcome him – a hug, a handshake, even a kiss?

  Nikolai took the initiative. He removed his uniform hat and tucked it under his arm, reached out to hold Marina’s hand and kissed her on both cheeks. Then looking into her eyes, he said, in his perfect English with hardly a trace of an accent: “So here we are. Marina is a real person. This is wonderful.”

  Marina was suddenly speechless and overwhelmed, but pulled herself together to reply in a whisper: “Yes, here we are… I never thought this would really happen.”

  “Well it has,” said Nikolai. “Let’s stroll and have a chat.”

  He gently took her hand and as they walked along the jetty, watched by some envious sailors on board the Russian ship, he started telling Marina about their voyage from Sevastapol to Portsmouth.

  The sailors were not the only ones watching them; in a discretely parked black car, two MI5 agents were also watching every move and taking photographs.

  Nikolai spotted the nearby dock where the historic, first ironclad warship, HMS Warrior was moored, with a queue of tourists waiting to go on board. He asked about its history and this change of subject helped Marina to relax and she told him all about the famous 19th century ship. And she continued with the story of Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory when they could see her masts and flags further away
in the Dockyard as they walked. Now regaining her composure, she asked: “How long will you be here?”

  He explained that they were scheduled to refuel the Admiral Essen the next day and then sail for more exercises on the following day – but he added that he was not required to be on duty until the next morning and asked her, “So do you have time to show me a bit more of Portsmouth?”

  Marina was pleased to say yes and pausing briefly to show him the office building where she worked, she explained that she had taken the day off, and added that as it was already mid-afternoon, they should make a start as soon as possible. Nikolai said he would need to change out of his uniform to “go ashore” and as they were walking past the Boathouse with its restaurants thronged with tourists, he suggested that she should wait for him there – “I will be back here in 10 minutes,” he said, as he strode away.

  Marina bought herself a cold drink and found a seat. She tried to think about where to take him – and in her mixed-up thoughts she suddenly wondered whether he would actually come back to find her? Also, since she did not have a car, they would be limited to places within reasonable walking distance.

  And then Nikolai appeared at the door and searched anxiously among the groups of visitors. Marina saw him and waved. She thought he was looking specially handsome and very different in blue jeans and a grey, patterned sweater. As they met and he said warmly: “OK Marina, let’s go.”

  They walked out through the Dockyard gates into The Hard where Marina pointed out the various features of the area including the famous Keppels Head Hotel, the Harbour railway station and the ferry service plying to and from Gosport where, she explained, there were several Royal Navy establishments. Then as they approached the modern development of the Gunwharf Quays shopping centre, she found herself rather naturally taking his arm as she guided him through the crowds toward the Spinnaker Tower. At the reception desk, she bought two tickets and they took the lift to the top deck where, from a height of 550 feet they had a dramatic view of the whole of Portsmouth and beyond to Southampton Water to the West, the Isle of Wight to the South with the Needles in the distance and the Sussex coast to the East. Marina had now lived in the area long enough to be able to give a commentary on all the views around them and to answer all of Nikolai’s questions.

  They took photographs of each other and asked another visitor to shoot photos of the two of them, posed and smiling happily with Nikolai’s arm around his girlfriend.

  “Wow,” he said, finally. “This is amazing. I can even see my ship down there in the Dockyard. Show me where you live?”

  Marina could easily point out the expanse of Southsea Common less than a mile away and the row of houses and apartments in the area, and she suggested that there was time to walk through that area and maybe find somewhere to have a meal together.

  As they walked and talked, dusk was taking over on this autumnal evening and there was a full moon to watch, rising in a clear, darkening sky. In this more romantic atmosphere, they began to recall their on-line exchanges in which they had shared many personal thoughts and it seemed that the closeness they had felt in those impersonal contacts was being easily revived. Marina held Nikolai’s arm ever more closely as she guided him through the streets of Portsmouth and pointed out the block of flats where she lived. They strolled on and into a nearby row of shops where she suggested they try an Italian restaurant.

  There, they found a corner table (and did not spot the man who entered soon after and dined alone on a large pizza as he read the evening newspaper). As they sipped their prosecco, Marina and Nikolai began to discuss when and how they might meet again; and then over linguini marinari and a bottle of white wine, they talked about their past lives and about a time in the future when Marina might be able to visit the home of her ancestors in Russia. And as they held hands across the table, Marina asked: “What time do you have to be back on board your ship?” and Nikolai said, softly and meaningfully “Well, I am not on duty again until nine tomorrow morning.”

  Marina smiled and received the signal. “Let’s skip dessert,” she said softly. “And go back to my flat for coffee.”

  Nikolai asked for the check and paid for dinner with cash, explaining to Marina that the ship’s officers had been paid in pounds sterling ahead of their arrival in Portsmouth to cover any personal expenses. And then, with their arms entwined, they strolled to the Southsea Terrace flats and Marina led the way into the lobby and then up to her first floor apartment – as quietly as possible without disturbing the neighbours.

  Once inside, Nikolai took Marina in his arms and they kissed lovingly for the first time. After a minute or two, Marina came up for air and asked: “Coffee?” Nikolai replied briefly: “Later” – and he led her through the open door into what he had already spotted as the bedroom. There, they kissed repeatedly as they slowly undressed and sank eagerly on to the bed and spoke soft endearments to each other as they made love. While they kissed and caressed, each of them in their own way was also trying to assess the true depth of the feelings of the other until they were swept away in the intensity of the moment.

  After a minute or two, a slightly breathless Nikolai moved away and murmured drowsily “dorogaya, dorogaya.” An elated Marina asked him: “That sounds nice; what does it mean?”

  It means “my darling” he responded and then he appeared to be dozing peacefully. Marina looked at him and quietly said to herself: “Can this really be true? This is what I have been dreaming of for years – a man who is loving and gentle and considerate…. and a handsome Russian, too … I wonder what happens next?”

  Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by a ring of her doorbell. “Oh, surely not my neighbour at this hour,” she said, pulling on a robe and walking into the sitting room, intending to look through the spyhole in the door. But before she could even get there, she heard the lock turning and in came two men in civilian clothes followed by a policewoman in uniform. As she reeled back, shocked by this sudden intrusion, the first man showed her his identity credentials as an agent with the Security Services and asked: “Is Nikolai Aldanov here?”

  Alarmed and confused Marina spluttered an unintelligible answer as Nikolai appeared in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a duvet, and asked: “What’s going on?”

  “Are you Nikolai Aldanov?” asked the agent.

  “Who are you and why do you want to know?”

  “My colleague and I are from the British Security Service and we have some questions for you to answer. It will be simplest if you get dressed quickly and come with us.”

  “I am an officer in the Russian Navy,” replied Aldanov, trying hard to appear superior while in a state of undress and with his hair rumpled. “And I want to contact the captain of my ship in the Dockyard here before I do anything.”

  “You can do that from the police station”, came the reply. “So let’s go there quietly before we all disturb the neighbours here.”

  The second agent then led Aldanov back into the bedroom and watched him carefully while he dressed and as the two men led him out of the flat, he turned back to Marina and said: “Don’t worry, my dorogaya. I will sort all this out and contact you later.” They quietly took him down to a waiting car and drove off at speed. On the way, Nikolai was told abruptly to “shut up” when he asked, “Where are we going?” A few minutes later, the car arrived at the front door of the Portsmouth police station, and he was escorted into the building.

  Meanwhile, the policewoman was still in the flat and carefully searching for anything left behind by the Russian. Marina interrupted and asked the her how they had managed to enter the front door and then her flat without making contact and was told: “These agents from London can do anything – even open locked doors. Now please get dressed. I am taking you to the police station because you also have some questions to answer.”

  “Me? What about?” asked Marina. “I haven’t done anything wrong”.

  “You had better get dressed quickly and bring your toiletries too bec
ause you might be with us until tomorrow,” said the policewoman, more sternly and looking at her watch. Then, dialling on her phone and waiting for a response, she said: “Are you still outside? OK, then we will be down in a few minutes.”

  Another police car was waiting outside and a bewildered Marina was escorted out of the building and into the back seats for the drive to the Portsmouth police station. By then, neighbours were at their front windows, watching these developments in amazement.

  As the two cars each arrived at the police station just five minutes away, Marina and Nikolai were taken to separate interview rooms in the CID department, where waiting police officers asked them to empty their pockets, took away the contents and wrote notes to record their actions. They also took Marina’s handbag, which contained, among other things, her mobile phone – ignoring her protest that she wanted to call her friend.

  And the two lovers waited, separated, alone and confused – only hours after their first dockside meeting and their short, romantic evening together.

  5.

  INTERROGATION

  “The Ruskies are very upset about whatever happened at Portsmouth yesterday,” said Sir Oliver Anderson-Scott, a senior diplomat from the Foreign Office. “What’s going on?”

  He had been summoned to an early-morning meeting, hurriedly convened for 8 am at the Home Office, with representatives from the Security Services MI5, together with officials from MI6, the Ministry of Defence and Scotland Yard … and the story unfolded.

  “It may be nothing special,” began a calm and relaxed Thomas Spencer, a senior director from MI5. “This was just an opportunity to pick up a couple of suspected informants, and they are both being questioned in Portsmouth by our people. I should be able to tell you a lot more by tomorrow.”