Tell Tale: Short Stories

The KGB chief opened the front door and added, “And one more thing, Vladimir, make sure you don’t tell anyone where you got them.”

2

KONSTANTIN CLOSED THE bedroom door quietly, not wanting to wake his wife. He took off his heavy boots. If he left early enough in the morning, he wouldn’t have to explain to Elena what he and his disciples had been up to, and even more important, what he had in mind for Saturday’s meeting. Better she thought that he’d been out drinking even had a mistress, rather than tell her the truth. Konstantin knew his wife would only try to convince him not to go ahead with the planned speech.

After all, they didn’t have too bad a life, he could hear her reminding him. They lived in an apartment block that had electricity and running water. She had a job as a cook at the officers’ club, and their son was waiting to hear if he’d won a scholarship to the prestigious foreign language school in Moscow. What more could they ask for?

That one day everyone could take privileges like that for granted, Konstantin would have told her.

He lay awake that night, penning a speech in his mind that he couldn’t risk transferring to paper before he delivered his message to the three thousand dockers on Saturday morning. He rose at 5:30, and once again took care not to wake his wife. He doused his face in freezing water, but didn’t shave. He dressed in overalls and a rough, open-necked shirt before finally pulling on his well-worn hobnailed boots. He crept out of the bedroom and collected his lunch box from the kitchen: a hard-boiled egg, two slices of bread, and cheese. Only members of the KGB would eat better.

He closed the front door quietly behind him as he left the flat and made his way slowly down the well-worn stone staircase before stepping out onto an empty street. He always walked the six kilometers to work, eschewing the overloaded bus that ferried the workers to and from the docks. If he hoped to survive beyond Saturday, he needed to remain fit, like a highly trained soldier in the field.

Whenever he passed a fellow worker in the street, Konstantin always acknowledged him with a mock salute. Some returned his salutation, others nodded, while a few, like bad Samaritans, looked the other way. They may as well have had their party numbers tattooed on their foreheads.

Konstantin arrived outside the dock gates an hour later and immediately clocked on. As works convener, he liked to be the first to arrive and the last to leave. He walked along the dockside while he considered his first assignment of the day. A submarine destined for Odessa in the Black Sea had just berthed at dock 11 for refueling and to pick up provisions, before continuing on its way, but that wouldn’t be for at least another hour. Only the most trusted men would be allowed anywhere near dock 11 that morning.

Konstantin’s mind drifted back to the previous night’s meeting. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Was it someone and not something, he wondered, as a vast crane at the far end of the dock began to lift its heavy load and swing slowly toward the waiting submarine on dock 11.

The operator seated in the crane’s cab had been chosen carefully. He could unload a tank into a hold with only inches to spare on either side. But not today. Today he was transferring barrels of oil to a submarine that needed to remain submerged for several days at a time, but the task also demanded pinpoint accuracy. One piece of luck, no wind that morning.

Konstantin tried to concentrate as he went over his speech once again. As long as none of his colleagues opened their mouths, he felt confident everything else would fall neatly into place. He smiled to himself.

The crane operator was satisfied that he had judged it to an inch. The load was perfectly balanced and still. He eased a long, heavy lever gently forward. The large clamp sprang open and the three barrels of oil were released. They came crashing down onto the dockside moments later. Inch perfect. Konstantin Karpenko had looked up, but it was too late. He was killed instantly. A dreadful accident, for which no one was to blame. The man knew he must disappear quickly before the men clocked in for the early shift. He swung the crane’s outstretched arm quickly back into place, turned off the engine, climbed out of the cab, and began to make his way down the ladder to the ground.

Three fellow workers were waiting for him as he stepped onto the dockside. He smiled at his comrades, not spotting the six-inch serrated blade before it was thrust deep into his stomach and then twisted. The other two held him down until he finally stopped whimpering. They bound his arms and legs before pushing him over the side and into the water. He reappeared three times, before finally disappearing below the surface. The operator hadn’t officially signed in that morning, so it would be some time before anyone noticed he was missing.

* * *

Konstantin Karpenko’s funeral was held at the Church of the Apostle Andrew, and the turnout was so large that the congregation spilled out onto the street, long before the choir had entered.

The bishop who delivered the eulogy described Konstantin’s death as a tragic accident, but then he was probably among the few people who believed the official communiqué issued by the docks commandant, and only then after it had been sanctioned by Moscow.

Seated near the front of the packed pews were eleven men who knew it wasn’t an accident, and the promise of a thorough investigation by the KGB wouldn’t help their cause, because they had lost their leader, and state inquiries usually took at least a couple of years to report their findings, by which time their moment would ha

ve passed.

Only family and close friends circled the grave to pay their last respects. Elena wept as the body of her husband was lowered slowly into the ground, and Alexander held on to his mother’s hand, something he hadn’t done for many years. He was suddenly aware that, despite his youth, he was now the head of the family.

He looked up to see Vladimir, who he hadn’t spoken to since his father’s death, half hidden at the back of the gathering. When their eyes met, his best friend quickly looked away. His father’s words flashed into Alexander’s mind. He’s cunning and ruthless. Believe me he’d shop his mother for a ticket to the cup final, probably even the semifinal. Vladimir hadn’t been able to resist telling Alexander he’d got two stand seats for the match on Saturday, although he wouldn’t say who had given them to him, or what he’d had to do to get them.

Alexander could only wonder just how far Vladimir would go to make sure he was offered a place at the state university, his only chance of being accepted by the KGB. He realized in that instant that he was no longer his friend. After a few moments Vladimir scurried away, like Judas in the night. He’d done everything except kiss Alexander’s father on the cheek.

Elena and Alexander remained kneeling by the graveside long after everyone else had departed. When she finally rose, Elena couldn’t help wondering what Konstantin must have done to cause such wrath. Only the most brainwashed party member accepted the official story the KGB were peddling, that after the tragic accident occurred, the crane operator had committed suicide. Even General Secretary Leonid had joined in the deception, when a Kremlin spokesman announced that Konstantin Karpenko had been made a Hero of the Soviet Union, and his widow would receive a full state pension.

Elena had already turned her full attention to the other man in her life. She had decided she would move to Moscow, find a job, and do everything in her power to advance her son’s career. But after a long discussion with her brother Niko, Elena had reluctantly accepted that she would have to remain in Leningrad, and try to carry on as if nothing had happened. She would be lucky even to hold on to her present job, because the KGB had tentacles that stretched far beyond her irrelevant existence.

* * *

On Saturday, in the semifinal of the Soviet Cup, Leningrad beat Odessa 2–1, and qualified to play Torpedo Moscow in the final.

Vladimir was already trying to work out what he would have to do to get a ticket.

3

ELENA WOKE EARLY, still not used to sleeping alone. Once she’d given Alexander his breakfast and packed him off to school, she tidied the flat, put on her coat, and left for work. Like Konstantin, she preferred to walk to the docks as it gave her a chance to clear her head.

She thought about the death of the only man she’d ever loved. What were they hiding from her? Why wouldn’t anyone tell her the truth? She would have to pick the right moment and ask her brother, who she felt sure knew far more than he was willing to admit. And then Elena thought about her son, whose exam results, were due any day now.