Heads You Win Read online

  “Where did you agree to meet Uncle Kolya?” he asked, responsibility once again changing hands.

  “Head toward those two cranes,” said Elena, pointing to the far end of the dock. “Whatever you do, Alexander, don’t mention what just happened to your uncle. It’s better that he doesn’t know, because as long as everyone thinks he was at the match, there will be no way of connecting him with us.”

  As Alexander led his mother toward dock 3, her legs felt so weak she could hardly place one foot in front of the other. Even if she had considered changing her mind at the last moment, she now realized they had no choice but to try and escape. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She kept her eyes on the two idle cranes that Kolya had said would be their signpost, and as they drew nearer, they saw a lone figure step out from behind two large wooden crates by the entrance of a deserted warehouse.

  “What kept you?” Kolya demanded anxiously, his eyes darting in every direction like a cornered animal.

  “We came as quickly as we could,” said Elena, without explanation.

  Alexander stared down into the crates to see half a dozen cases of vodka neatly stacked in each one. The agreed tariff for a one-way trip to …

  “All you have to do now,” said Kolya, “is decide whether you want to go to America or England.”

  “Why don’t we let fate decide?” said Alexander. He took a five-kopek coin from his pocket, and balanced it on the end of a thumb. “Heads America, tails England,” he said, and flipped it high into the air. The coin bounced on the dockside before coming to rest at his feet. Alexander bent down and looked at the image for a moment, then picked up his mother’s suitcase and his lunch box and put them in the bottom of the chosen crate. Elena then climbed inside, and waited for her son to join her.

  They crouched down and clung to each other as Kolya placed the lid firmly back on top of the crate. Although it took him only a few moments to hammer a dozen nails into the lid, Elena was already listening for another sound. The sound of heavy boots heading toward them, the lid of the crate being ripped off, and the two of them being dragged out to face a triumphant Major Polyakov.

  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.”

  “He can serve at table,” said Elena before Sasha had a chance to reply.

  “That will be a first,” said the captain.

  It certainly will, thought Sasha, who’d never been inside a restaurant in his life, and apart from clearing the table and washing up after supper, was rarely to be found in the kitchen.

  “Is the cabin next to Fergal’s free, Matthews?” asked the captain.

  “Yes, skipper, but it’s hardly big enough for two.”

  “Then put the boy in with Fergal. He can sleep on the top bunk, and his mother can have the spare cabin. Once they’ve unpacked,” he added, glancing down at the small suitcase, “take them to the galley and introduce them to the cook.”

  Sasha noticed that this statement brought a smile to the lips of the helmsman, although his eyes remained fixed on the ocean ahead.

  “Aye, aye, captain,” said Matthews. Without another word he led his charges back down the spiral staircase and onto the main deck. Once again Sasha stared toward the distant horizon, but there was no longer any sign of Leningrad.

  They followed Matthews back across the deck, and descended an even narrower staircase to the bowels of the ship. Their guide led them down a dimly lit corridor, coming to a halt outside two adjoining cabins.

  “This is where you’ll be sleeping during the voyage.”

  Elena opened the door of her cabin and looked