Heads You Win

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.”