During his convalescence, Jack observed that not only did those he thought wanted him dead seem uninterested in his health, but Elizabeth hadn’t deigned to call on him, and aside from Joe Brown and Walter, the only visitor he’d received since his admission had been Wilbur Hewitt, who had only come to the Avtozavod to alert him to the problems blighting the factory.
“We’re all anxious,” the industrialist admitted in the rehabilitation room where he’d found Jack performing a series of exercises on crutches. “Who’d have imagined there’d be a strike that brought the factory to a standstill? Apparently, Stalin’s furious, which means that heads are going to roll soon. And you can bet that the first ones to roll will be American.”
Jack was surprised. He took a rest from the walking that Natasha had prescribed and sat on a battered armchair that an elderly man had just vacated. “A strike . . . and the factory’s been shut down?”
“Completely paralyzed. The pickets have stopped the workers from going in. They’ve set fire to cars and cut off the power supply. The Avtozavod looks like a war zone.”
“No one’s said anything about it in here.”
“The workers aren’t allowed to talk to outsiders about what’s happening, on pain of being sent to a labor camp, and you’re a foreigner.” There was a worried silence for a moment. “The discontent goes back a long time, but the demonstrations began three days ago. From what I’ve been able to find out, the OGPU have informed Stalin, and he’s sending in the army.”
“And what do you plan to do?” Jack noticed that Wilbur Hewitt was sweating.
“I don’t know yet. I’ve sent a wire to Dearborn requesting instructions. I can’t leave the factory because our contract with the Soviet government has a penalty clause if we interrupt our technical support. I’m guessing it’s what Sergei hopes to do: claim a breach of contract and cancel the payments owed. But I’m afraid for my niece. I’ve suggested she accept Viktor Smirnov’s offer to stay in his dacha until the hostilities are resolved.”
The news made him uneasy. “And is there anything I can do to help?”
“Get back on your feet as soon as possible, kid. It’s rebellion in the American village. Many are trying to organize themselves to return to the United States, but it’s rumored that the Soviets aren’t going to give them their passports back. That’s why I thought you . . . Well, people say you have contacts.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Jack! You can trust me. Do you, or don’t you?”
Jack could see Hewitt was desperate. “I don’t know. I might be able to speak to someone who knows someone . . . but it’s only a might.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. When do you think you’ll be able to walk?”
“I don’t know for certain. The doctor says she’ll take the crutches away in a couple of days, but I’m not so sure.”
“The doctor?”
“Yes. Natasha Lobanova. The one—”
“Natasha? Well, I’ll be damned! You’ve fallen into good hands! Nothing like that ogre of her father. All right. Get well as quickly as possible. I need you out there, and I’m prepared to pay whatever’s necessary.”
“What exactly are you planning to do?”
At that moment, Wilbur noticed a patient nearby who seemed to be paying more attention than was warranted. “It’s too dangerous to say more now, but when you get out of the hospital, come and see me at home.”
“Come on, Mr. Hewitt! What’s going on? Don’t you think what happened to me was suspicious?”
“You mean the accident?”
“Ha! That’s one way of putting it. For God’s sake, they tried to kill me! That guy Anatoly Orlov waited until I was under the conveyor and then started it up.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t know the details. Sergei assured me it was an accident. He even showed me the statements of witnesses who said it was you who made the conveyor tip over when you wrecked the gearing with a metal bar.”
“But don’t you see? Sergei was the one who planned it all. I bet he’s put me in here to keep me quiet while he brings charges of sabotage against me.”
“That Soviet bastard suspects me. That’s why you have to get out as soon as possible. Even so, you need not worry about that Orlov anymore. Apparently, he worked for Sergei, taking care of shady business for him. He was his right-hand man.”
“Worked? He doesn’t anymore?”
“I don’t think he’s up to the job.”
“Why? What happened?”
“He showed up dead this morning in the press shop, with his head caved in. They say it was an accident. Like yours.”
24
Though Jack had never set foot in a Siberian prison, he imagined their disciplinary regime was no worse than the one they imposed in the hospital each morning.
Though they’d all been shaved on admission, every day a nurse inspected the patients’ heads for lice, to prevent the spread of typhus. The ones who could walk were then escorted to the showers, and the lame patients like Jack were washed by two tough male nurses, who manhandled them like they were sacks of potatoes. Dressings were changed daily, but although they assured Jack they used an autoclave to disinfect them, he didn’t believe them.
The lack of resources contrasted with the sophistication of the machinery used at the Avtozavod. To build automobiles, the Soviets had imported expensive machines and foundries, but feeding and taking care of their workers seemed to be a secondary consideration. In Jack’s mind, that was the one true cause of the strike that had brought the Avtozavod to a standstill, a strike for which the authorities needed people to blame. That was why he needed to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. For a moment, he thought about escaping, but aside from his limp, there were the ward guards, who, as another patient told him, were OGPU. His only choice was to press Natasha Lobanova to discharge him.
He decided to seize his chance to try to persuade her on her night rounds. Sergei’s daughter was on duty that evening, and she seemed keen to chat. However, as much as Jack tried, she was immune to his pleas.
While she examined the wound’s scarring, Natasha asked Jack about America. Accustomed to enthralling his Soviet colleagues with wondrous stories, he launched into a description of his country with the cunning of a fox stalking a hen. “You have to see it! In the cities, the buildings soar into the sky, lighting it up with neon; the streets are filled with cars, and on the sidewalks, people go from store to store, where the shelves are packed with anything you could wish for: food, drink, cigarettes, clothes, tools, gramophones. Anything you can dream of, you can buy there.”
“But what if you don’t have money?”