‘There was no surrender,’ Lieutenant Lubov said sharply. ‘None was needed. The Baltics have always belonged to Russia. She has just welcomed them back to the fold.’
‘Of course.’ Olga dropped her eyes to study her dusty shoes.
Lieutenant Lubov took out a notebook. ‘I will need your names,’ he said. ‘And a record of everything you saw. Anything you can remember, any details, will help us identify the thieves if they should be so stupid as to show their faces.’
Our names. I wondered if I should lie, but what would be the point? ‘I am Lydia Volkova,’ I said. ‘And this is my companion, Olga Adreevna.’
At my words, Lieutenant Lubov looked up from the notebook, large nostrils flaring like an animal that has caught the scent of prey.
‘You are the Partorg’s daughter?’
‘I am.’
Lieutenant Lubov’s eyebrows lifted. ‘How strange. He did not mention you were coming.’
‘We only sent word yesterday,’ I said. I felt slightly affronted. What business was it of his what arrangements we had made? Perhaps he was my father’s confidante. I wondered if they were close, aware of the disadvantage of being so distant from Papa all these years. At least in Moscow, I knew most of the players. Who preferred flattery to direct questions.
I waited for him to say more, but he merely stared at me intently until I grew uncomfortable.
‘What happens now?’ I said eventually. I shielded my eyes against the sunlight that gleamed on the green paintwork of the train. Sweat was forming on my back, making me glad I had thrown off the bearskin coat before we left the train. Perhaps one of the thieves had snatched it up.
My voice seemed to snap him back. He flipped the notebook closed and pocketed it, his gaze sliding away to the soldiers at the edge of the forest. ‘There will be a short delay while the train is set right,’ he said. ‘And then the driver assures us that the service will continue to Tartu. You should reach there by the afternoon.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘Once they reach their dens they become difficult to track. But I hope I will see you in Tartu. Excuse me.’
‘Wait, Lieutenant.’
He turned back, frowning. Ignoring Olga’s warning squeeze, I pressed forward, close enough to catch the sharp whiff of cologne and cigarettes, mixed with the faint, fading scent of gunpowder.
‘What will they do with them if they are caught? The thieves.’ I was thinking of Kalev and Jaak, imagining them back at their camp or wherever they lived, dividing up the spoils, which would be slightly less after the clemency they showed the young woman.
Lieutenant Lubov’s eyes were hard pebbles. ‘They will be shot. On sight.’
I swallowed hard. ‘No trial?’
Lieutenant Lubov leaned close. I felt the hairs rise on my neck as his breath tickled my skin.
‘We don’t give trials to animals.’
Squaring his shoulders, he strode away.
It was past noon when the train finally pulled into Tartu, belching to a stop beside a dusty platform and a peeling timber building that had seen better days.
Footsteps pounded the corridor outside as passengers disembarked, greeting the people waiting for them on the platform and disappearing into the thick coils of steam. I understood their haste, their desire to be away as quickly as possible and to leave the ugly incident of this morning behind. I, too, was eager to forget the cold reality of my first robbery.
Olga was dozing, her mouth half-open. I shook her awake, trying to summon up the energy to gather our things.
We had been lucky. The bandits had found little of value among our belongings, and though we returned to find them scattered about, it had not taken long to repack them. Others – those travelling with jewellery or items easily sold on the black market – were not so fortunate.
We stumbled out onto the platform, as dusty as two cats fresh from an alley scrap. Beside me, Olga clutched her case. She had regained some of her spirit.
‘I hope your papa has been given decent lodgings,’ she said. ‘A man of his stature. I am dreaming of a Tsar bath like the one Catherine the Great presented to Potemkin.’ She half-closed her eyes as if she could see it shimmering in the shabby waiting room nearby; a great granite tub carved from a red monolith. A bath fit for a lover and his Queen.
Despite my exhaustion, I laughed. ‘I doubt Papa has been given such grand utilities, Olga.’
Olga sighed. A breeze raced up the platform. The passengers had largely dispersed, and the few train staff hurried back and forth across the platform, eager to be on their way again. Olga and I stood alone.
I searched for any sign of Papa’s retinue. A car, a guard waiting.
‘You did send the letter, Olga?’ I said. My stomach was beginning to twist itself into knots.
‘Of course!’ My companion sniffed. ‘What do you take me for?’
‘Stay here,’ I said, not wishing to worry her.
As the train released a blast of steam, I made my way to the ticket office. Through the glass, I spied an empty chair. I banged on the glass and called through the window.
Nobody came.
I rapped again.
Nothing.
Panic beat in my chest. With no car to collect us and no way of knowing the location of Papa’s office, we were stranded. Could we walk there or must we drive? Were there trams, or was this city too small for such modern conveniences?
I looked around in despair, taking note of a small square of car park behind the peeling ticket office, weeds poking up between the gravel.
‘There’s no more services today. They’ve all been cancelled,’ said a voice from behind me. I spun around.
Tall. I had to squint up to see his face. Big hands poking out beneath the sleeves of a shabby jacket a few sizes too small; threads hanging down against pale skin flecked with freckles.
I took an involuntary step backwards.
‘Do you work here?’
The man laughed. Was he a man or a boy? It was hard to tell. The too-small jacket made him look like an oversized ragdoll. His hair completed the image; tight brown ringlets that stuck out in different directions. Warm brown eyes set deep in his face that shone when he smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was waiting for a friend. He won’t be able to get through now though, so…’
His voice trailed off and he spread his palms helplessly. I studied him as if he were a strange specimen I had never seen before. I felt a tingling in my hands; the first stirrings that my mother was near.
Important, she was saying. This one is important.
I chewed at my lip, allowing my gaze to run across his thin shoulders and down to the ends of his freckled fingers. He did not look important, but I could not force my eyes away. With a jolt I realised I was staring. I felt my face turn hot as a brick left in the hearth.
But the man did not seem offended. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m Estonian. Among other things. Jakob Rebane.’
He held out his hand. I took it quickly, and then let it drop.
‘Lydia Volkova.’
‘Volkova?’ He frowned. ‘Like the Chief of Security.’
‘Yes. He’s my father. You know him, then.’ I felt relieved. If this man knew where my father worked, he could surely direct us there.
‘Know him?’ Jakob blinked rapidly. ‘He’s the Partorg,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Everybody knows him. He has offices on Vaksali Street but I believe he’s most often found at the Grey House. Põder Street.’
I waited for him to speak again, to tell me about my father’s achievements, or his rapport with the local populace. To tell me about the great things Estonia was now achieving beneath Soviet rule. The things I had read about.
Instead, an awkward silence opened up between us.