‘Sure…’ Yuri remembered Afghanistan and the first time he experienced incoming, halfway up a mountain pass when mortars rained in without warning. The soldier next to him had been ripped to shreds by scrap metal that had miraculously left him unscathed.
‘But you get used to it… most of it… otherwise you couldn’t function.’
He took a swig of beer.
‘You seem very distracted of late. I’m sure you have a lot going on.’
‘You could say that,’ said Yuri, and laughed. He hesitated, deciding whether to share his suspicions. ‘I think we are reaching some sort of tipping point.’
‘Go on.’
‘You saw Roslavi yesterday. Just another example… perestroika isn’t working, not yet… On top of that we have democracy breaking out in Eastern Europe, a new government elected in Poland, anti-communist and anti-Soviet, and now Hungary. If there is an uprising, the general secretary is not going to be the man to put it down…’
‘But someone else might, you think?’
‘I’ve been wracking my brains on that one. You and Misha will have to watch out. We all will. We’ll be right in the firing line, literally, if someone tries to turn the clock back.’
‘In the meantime?’
‘Soldier on, that’s what a soldier does.’
It was as he drew back that Yuri clocked the two men sitting at a table towards the back of the bar observing him. He had subconsciously noticed them before, but it was only now that he became alert to them studying him across the room.
‘Excuse me, Vika.’
He walked over to their table.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Yuri. ‘You seem overly interested in either me or my friend.’
‘Good evening, General,’ said the taller of the seated men. Yuri was not in military uniform. ‘How does it feel to be back in your old hunting ground?’
‘What’s that to you?’
‘You’ve certainly moved up in the world, General, fame and fortune, not to mention a beautiful… and rich woman, it would be a shame to see that all come to an end because you backed the wrong people.’
‘And who precisely are the wrong people,’ said Yuri, feeling his anger rise.
‘Anti-Soviet, of course.’
They had to be KGB, Yuri thought.
‘You know what, whoever you are, life is full of threats and opportunities,’ said Yuri. ‘I’ll take my chances. You can tell your boss, from whatever directorate you are from, I won’t be so polite next time I find someone trailing me. Now, I don’t want you spoiling my favourite bar or evening so I suggest you leave quietly or I can always have those soldiers over there assist.’
The two men got up. The taller of the two took a step forward towards Yuri.
‘Let’s go,’ said the other man, placing a restraining hand on his colleague’s arm.
Yuri watched the two of them cross the bar and exit onto the street. When he turned to find Viktoriya, he discovered her studying him from across the room, a concerned look on her face.
‘Well they clearly liked you,’ Viktoriya said when he made it back to the bar.
Maybe they were closer to that tipping point than he had at first thought. When the KGB started threatening the military, things were indeed coming to a head.
‘Dinner?’ he said. ‘They haven’t put me off my food. But not here.’
Snow had already begun to fall when they headed out, lightly at first but within minutes heavily, covering domes, buildings, streets and the frozen Dnieper itself in a thick white blanket. As it swirled in flurries and eddies around them, Yuri put his arm around Viktoriya in a protective manner, engulfing her in his long great coat. When they finally arrived at the restaurant, Yuri gave her a gentle tug. Wordlessly, they agreed to continue to explore this new wonderland… until the cold finally drove them back inside.
Chapter 35
Early morning, two men trudged out from the city centre towards the suburbs along still and mostly deserted snow-covered streets. Others shuffled by, pulling small sledges, embarked on some essential errand, wrapped in padded coats, hoods up, heads down, faces masked by woollen scarves against the sub-zero temperature. Single white flakes drifted slowly past, threatening another major early snow. Snowploughs would eventually do their work but probably not until the next day or the day after that, after the main roads were cleared. Until then, the roads would remain impassable to ordinary traffic.
The shorter of the two men gripped a small but heavy bag. They had taken turns carrying it, switching it from arm to arm as they crunched along the narrow lanes. Up ahead, they could make out the snow-covered outline of the Leningrad Freight warehouse on the edge of the deserted industrial estate, its east face rising above an adjacent open storage lot. In the snow it looked different to the yard they had reconnoitred the day before, prior to their unfruitful encounter with the general.
They paused for a moment under the canopy of a snow-covered tree. The small man put down the bag to catch his breath. They stood there, silent, hidden from view for some minutes, looking and listening for sounds of life and security patrols. Only their breath, visible in the freezing air, gave them away. A stray dog appeared, sniffed around their feet and wandered off disinterested.
‘What do you think?’ said the shorter one.
‘Looks perfect, the place is deserted,’ he replied, looking beyond the warehouse and lot to the derelict windowless building behind.
Staying close to the building line, they walked the final hundred metres to the entrance of the storage lot. It was secured by a flimsy metal gate tied shut with a padlock and chain.
‘Pass me the wire cutters,’ said the taller of the two. He cut a vertical opening in the chain-link wire mesh fence, peeled it back, and, after one final look around, slipped through, his partner close behind. Making their way past building materials and construction equipment in varying states of disrepair, they arrived at a mountain of empty wooden pallets, stacked five metres high, close against the wall of the neighbouring Leningrad Freight warehouse and wooden rafters above.
‘Made for the job, I would say,’ said the taller man, looking up at the dry inner layers of timber.
They wandered around the yard collecting sacking, old paint and fuel cans – anything they thought might burn – and stuffed them roughly between the stack of pallets.
‘This’ll teach that general to watch his mouth.’
‘I hope they’ve got insurance,’ the smaller man joked as he stepped back a few feet. From the carrier bag he removed a large can of petrol. The taller man, the one had spoken to Yuri in the bar, extracted a lighter from his pocket and ran his thumb over the wheel. He adjusted the flame till it leapt several inches into the air.
‘Okay, we don’t want to waste this, so make sure you give the dry wood a good soak,’ instructed the taller man. Petrol fumes tainted the crisp winter air as his partner emptied the can, shaking it vigorously to extract every last drop.
‘That’ll do!’ said the man with the lighter. ‘Best move right back now, well away from this lot.’
The shorter man threw the now empty can into the pallet shelving and stepped back a good twenty feet, close to where his partner stood waiting.
‘Here goes then.’
He hit the flint again. The flame spurted upwards.
‘Enjoy the fireworks!’ he said, and took a step towards the tinderbox of pallets.
Blood and brain splattered the ground as a single rifle shot echoed off the buildings and walls. The lighter flame traced the arsonists fall to the ground, finally extinguishing itself in the snow.
In an upper window of the derelict building his companion caught the glint of a telescopic sight.