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 towards 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 towards 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 harbour. 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 rumour that his friend Vladimir had masterminded the escape, which he hoped would derail his 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 towards a spiral staircase which 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 round 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 towards 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 up at a swinging bulb that threw a small arc of light onto a narrow bunk. The rhythmic thumping of the ship’s engine guaranteed that even if she hadn’t slept for the past week, she certainly wasn’t going to for the next one.
Matthews opened the next-door cabin. Sasha stepped inside to find a double bunk that took up almost the whole space.
‘You’ll be on top,’ said Matthews. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour, when I’ll take you up to the galley.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sasha, who immediately climbed onto the top bunk. It wasn’t any better than his bed in Leningrad. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d chosen the right crate.
*
‘Now listen up,’ someone shouted, ‘because I’m only going to say this once.’
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face the chef, who was standing in the centre of the galley, hands on hips.
‘We have a lady on board, and she’ll be working with us. Mrs Karpenko is a trained cook, who has a great deal of experience, so you will treat her with the respect she deserves. If any one of you puts a foot out of line, I’ll chop it off and feed it to the seagulls. Do I make myself clear?’ The nervous laughter that followed suggested that he did.
‘Her son, Sasha,’ continued the chef, ‘who is also travelling with us, will be assisting Fergal in the dining room. Right, let’s all get back to work. We have dinner to serve in a couple of hours.’
A thin, pale young man with a shock of red hair strolled across the galley and stopped in front of Sasha.
‘I’m Fergal,’ he said. Sasha nodded, but didn’t speak. ‘Now listen up,’ he added firmly, placing his hands on his hips, ‘because I’m only going to say this once. I’m the chief steward, and you can call me sir.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sasha meekly.
Fergal burst out laughing, shook his new recruit by the hand and said, ‘Follow me, Sasha.’
Sasha followed him out of the galley and up the nearest staircase. ‘So what am I expected to do?’ he asked once he’d caught up.
‘As you’re told,’ said Fergal when he reached the top step. ‘Our job is to serve the passengers in the dining room.’