Alexander cut his steak into several pieces, chewing each morsel slowly, between mouthfuls of bread and sips of water. He saved the parsnip till last. Its bland taste lingered in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if he even liked it. In War and Peace parsnips were only eaten by the servants. They continued to talk in English while they enjoyed the meal.
Konstantin emptied his glass of water, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, stood up, and left the room without another word.
“You can go back to your books, Alexander. This shouldn’t take me too long,” his mother said with a wave of her hand.
Alexander happily obeyed her. Back in his room, he replaced the word “supper” with “dinner,” before turning to the next page and continuing with his translation of Tolstoy’s masterpiece. The French were advancing on Moscow …
As Konstantin left the apartment block and walked out onto the street, he was unaware of a pair of eyes staring down at him.
Vladimir had been gazing aimlessly out of the window, unable to concentrate on his schoolwork, when he spotted Comrade Karpenko leaving the building. It was the third time that week. Where was he going at this time of night? Perhaps he should find out. He quickly left his room and tiptoed down the corridor. He could hear loud snoring coming from the front room, and peeped in to see his father slumped in his ancient horsehair chair, an empty bottle of vodka lying on the floor by his side. He opened and closed the front door quietly, then bolted down the stone steps and out onto the street. Glancing to his left he spotted Mr. Karpenko turning the corner and ran after him, slowing down only when he reached the end of the road.
He peered around the corner, and watched as Comrade Karpenko went into the Church of the Apostle Andrew. What a complete waste of time, thought Vladimir. The Orthodox Church may have been frowned on by the KGB, but it wasn’t actually banned. He was about to turn back and go home when another man appeared out of the shadows, whom he’d never seen at church on Sundays.
Vladimir was careful to remain out of sight as he edged his way slowly toward the church. He watched as two more men came from the other direction and quickly made their way inside, then froze when he heard footsteps behind him. He slipped over the wall and lay on the ground, waiting until the man had passed before he crept between the gravestones to the back of the church and an entrance that only the choristers ever used. He turned the heavy door handle and cursed when it didn’t open.
Looking around, he spotted a half-open window above him. He couldn’
t quite reach it, so using a rough stone slab as a step, pushed himself up off the ground. On his third attempt, he managed to grab the window ledge, and with a supreme effort pulled himself up and squeezed his slim body through the window before dropping to the floor on the other side.
Vladimir tiptoed silently through the back of the church until he reached the sanctuary, where he hid behind the altar. Once his heartbeat had returned to almost normal, he peered around the side of the altar to see a dozen men seated in the choir stalls, deep in conversation.
“So when will you share your idea with the rest of the workforce?” one of them was asking.
“Next Saturday, Stepan,” said Konstantin, “when all our comrades come together for the monthly works meeting. I’ll never have a better opportunity to convince them to join us.”
“Not even a hint to some of the older hands about what you have in mind?” asked another.
“No. Our only chance of success is surprise. We don’t need to alert the KGB to what we’re up to.”
“But they’re certain to have spies in the room, listening to your every word.”
“I’m aware of that, Mikhail. But by then the only thing they’ll be able to report back to their masters will be the strength of our support for forming an independent trade union.”
“Although I have no doubt the men will back you,” said a fourth voice, “no amount of rousing oratory can stop a bullet in its tracks.” Several of the men nodded gravely.
“Once I’ve delivered my speech on Saturday,” said Konstantin, “the KGB will be wary of doing anything quite that stupid, because if they did, the men would rise as one, and they’d never be able to squeeze the genie back into the bottle. But Yuri is right,” he continued. “You’re all taking a considerable risk for a cause I’ve long believed in, so if anyone wants to change his mind and leave the group, now is the time to do so.”
“You won’t find a Judas among us,” said another voice, as Vladimir stifled a cough. The men all stood as one to acknowledge Karpenko as their leader.
“Then we’ll meet again on Saturday morning. Until then we must remain silent, and keep our counsel.”
Vladimir’s heart was thumping as the men shook hands with each other, one by one, before leaving the church. He didn’t move until he finally heard the great west door slam shut, and a key turn in the lock. He then scurried back to the vestry, and with the help of a stool, wriggled out of the window, clinging to the ledge before dropping to the ground like a seasoned wrestler. The one discipline where Alexander wasn’t in his class.
Aware that he didn’t have a moment to lose, Vladimir ran in the opposite direction to Mr. Karpenko, toward a street that didn’t need a NO ENTRY sign, as only party officials ever considered entering Tereshkova Prospect. He knew exactly where Major Polyakov lived, but wondered if he had the nerve to knock on his door at that time of night. At any time of the day or night, for that matter.
When he reached the street with its leafy trees and neat cobblestone pavement, Vladimir stood and stared at the house, losing his nerve with every second that passed. He finally summoned up enough courage to approach the front door, and was about to knock when it was flung open by a man who didn’t like to be taken by surprise.
“What do you want, boy?” the major demanded, grabbing his unwelcome visitor by the ear.
“I have information,” said Vladimir, “and you told us when you visited our school last year looking for recruits, that information was golden.”
“This had better be good,” said Polyakov, who didn’t let go of the boy’s ear as he dragged him inside. He slammed the door behind him. “Start talking.”
Vladimir faithfully reported everything he’d overheard in the church. By the time he’d come to the end, the pressure on his ear had been replaced by an arm around his shoulder.
“Did you recognize anyone other than Karpenko?” Polyakov asked.
“No, sir, but he mentioned the names Yuri, Mikhail, and Stepan.”