Can't Let Her Go

“But no one has ever done such a thing.”

“Well, then I’ll be the first.”

She frowns. “What about the money your parents have taken from the program?”

“I’ll pay it all back, over time. I intend to go to Moscow and work there.”

She scratches her head in bewilderment. “What will you do there?”

“I don’t know. Anything. I could be a waitress or I could work in a kitchen. I don’t care.”

“Oh, Katya. Won’t you think again? Moscow is such a dangerous place and you don’t even know anyone there.”

“My mind is made up. There’s something wrong with the program, Irina. Even before Mrs. Komarov told me about the girls disappearing, I didn’t feel good.” I press my belly. “Here.”

“How do you plan to lose your virginity then? Nobody in the village is going to sleep with you. They all know it’s your D-day in four day’s time.”

“I’m not going to sleep with anyone from this village.”

This time, Irina’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “What do you mean?”

“You know how your brother goes to Vatskoe every Friday night to have a drink …”

“Yeah,” she gasps in a hushed tone.

“I’ll tell my parents I want to spend my second last night in Sutgot with you. I come here and hide in the back of his truck. Once we get to Vatskoe, I’ll go to that tavern where all the truck drivers gather. I’ll sleep with one of them and as soon as the act is over, I will hop back onto the back of the truck and wait for your brother. When we get back here, I’ll wait for him to go into the house before I slip into your bedroom.”

She gapes at me incredulously. “Are you crazy? Do you realize it’s an hour’s drive just to get there? You will freeze to death in that open truck.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll bring my bear skin and hot water bottle.”

She shakes her head in confusion. “But those men in the tavern. They’re uncouth and dirty.”

I feel a shiver go through me. Do I really want to do this? “It is just the one time. I will wash when I come back to your house.”

“But what if you get pregnant?”

“That’s what I’ll need you for. Can you steal a condom from one of your brother’s packets?”

“Me,” she squeals. “Steal one of Yuri’s condoms? Are you crazy?”

“Oh please, Irina. He’ll never know. And even if he does realize one is missing and asks you, all you have to do is pretend it wasn’t you. He’ll think he made a mistake or dropped it. Please, Irina. This is really important.”

“All right,” she agrees reluctantly.

I lean forward and kiss her. “Thank you. Thank you so much! I won’t forget this.”

“I’m not happy about this. I think you’re making a mistake.”

“I know you do, but I’m doing this not just for myself but for Tatyana too.”

“You do know your way around Vatskoe, don’t you?”

“Like the back of my hand,” I lie. I’ve been there once with Papa and his friend. I sat in the car while he and his friend went to get some specialty vodka for his daughter’s engagement party.

Hunter

Anakin was true to his word and I fly to Amsterdam first class. It makes me realize I’m not walking into a trap. He would never flush money down the train for a walking corpse. The attendants try to feed me every fifteen minutes and set down a new drink every ten. They’re pretty too, and they smile as if they’re interested in me. They aren’t. And I’m okay with that. I know what I look like. I’m a big, ugly motherfucker with an angry scar down my face and dead eyes, but they’re just trying to get through the time without making me unhappy.

In Amsterdam, I change planes and airlines.

While the first flight was all smiles and good reviews, the second flight is cold war all over again. The smiles are perfunctory; the booze is watered down; the food is left over from a prison riot or something. But I’m not complaining. I’m worrying about the package.

In Moscow, I exit customs after they have done their worst with my bag to find the Sherpa waiting. Sherpas come in various flavors and this one is old, way old, older than anyone in Anakin’s organization. His dour face is lined and leathery as if he has lived on a mountain all his life.

He speaks English far better than I speak Russian, but he is a man of few words apparently. We head to the train station. Apparently, spending a night in Moscow isn’t included in the itinerary. I look at the Sherpa as he makes his way to the platform and wonder if he’s packing heat. I would feel better if he did, because I certainly don’t want to carry a pistol in a foreign country. That’s a recipe for prison. Russian prisons aren’t known for their hospitality.

We board the train and find our first-class cabin. As first-class goes, it is about third class, but it is private and it is bug-free. Not that I’m one of those guys that hates bugs. When I was a kid, cockroaches were my bedmates. I hated them until I loved them. I used to share my food with them.

But that was a very, very long time ago.

As the train leaves the station, I catch glimpses of Moscow. A thought comes into my head. One day I will be back here. Like a tourist. Like a normal person. The thought surprises me. I never make plans for the future. The future is a black hole. I glance back at the Sherpa.

He is staring blankly out of the opposite window.

I turn away and do the same.

Train rides are inherently boring. No matter what you do, it’s always more of the same. Some towns, some cities, lots of open country. The train isn’t exactly a high-speed miracle. It goes faster at times and slower at times and then, it sits on a siding while another train ambles past.

The Sherpa speaks when it’s time to eat or drink. He likes to drink, and apparently, he has a large expense account. When he says it’s time, we saunter down to the bar car and start on the vodka. While I can generally hold my own with American Russians, I’m a piker compared to the Sherpa. He drains shot after shot, and it doesn’t seem to affect him, although it must. Only a robot with a robotic liver can drink like this Sherpa. After a couple hours of vodka, we move to the dining car. The food is awful, so we don’t eat much. The Sherpa drinks some more and I settle for vegetables and bread. It’s good bread. The meat is a mystery, but it tastes like broiled beef. Maybe when we get to where we’re going, I’ll find a decent burger or something.

The days run together, the miles fall behind and I wonder again, why in the hell I have to travel all this way for a package. What really bothers me is that the package must be something incredibly valuable. Anakin is no idiot and he doesn’t waste money. He’s not going to send me halfway around the world for a box of Cheerios. Translated, that means I’m a target on the return trip. People are going to know I’m bringing home the crown jewels and every thief worth his salt will be looking to relieve me of my treasure. I don’t like my chances.

After three days, we roll into a small town. The trains shudders to a stop at the station and the Sherpa grabs both bags.

“Have we arrived?”

He shakes his head. “No, this is Vatskoe. A storm has damaged the rail tracks up ahead. We will stay the night here and travel to Sutgot by car tomorrow.”

I follow him to a small inn, the kind of place you would see in an old movie. A dour, middle-aged woman places large bowls of steaming potato and beef stew in front of us before showing us to our rooms.

My room is spotlessly clean, but smells like cabbage. It’s a common smell. The train smelled like cabbage and the station smelled like cabbage. Hell, it feels as if everything and everyone in Russia smells like cabbage. As the sound of her hard shoes shuffle away on the wooden floor, I turn towards the small window. For a long time, I watch the snow falling outside. The sight is magical. Again, the thought comes into my head. I will come back to this beautiful country as a tourist.

Then I brush my teeth and without undressing, I climb between the freezing sheets. My body r

ocks on its own even without the train. Sleep doesn’t come. I try to push thoughts of that damn package out of my head, but I can’t. I keep thinking I’m a sitting duck out here. Finally, I give up and get out of bed. It is too early to be in bed, anyway.

Despite the freezing weather, I decide to explore the town.