Condemned (5 page)

The money-producing discovery that Vasily had made, came from Uri Mojolevski, another man of the night, with whom Vasily had sporadically done some work—mischief work, monkey work. Mojolevski had returned to Leningrad from Tashkent, Uzbekestan, dressed like a big shot, with a big wad of cash. There were certain people, certain very powerful, politically connected American people, Uri had explained, who were willing to provide funds and protection, to someone in Leningrad who knew how to handle himself and their product—heroin.

Although heroin was totally prohibited in the Soviet Union, considered a decadent, Western commodity in the minds of the Politburo, in the streets it was gold. No, it was better than gold. It was more easily obtained. It didn't have to be clawed out of the frozen ground. It grew, abounded, and grew again and again. And people wanted it, needed it, would pay gold for it. A small amount of heroin, in no time at all, could lift a vast weight of weariness, dreariness, boredom out of the cold, dark, long, Leningrad winter.

Vasily didn't know how the people he began to work with were able to accomplish all they did each time there was a trip to import the heroin. Obviously they were, as Uri had said, very powerful, politically connected American people. They were able to give Vasily and his smuggling team funds and travel routes by which they could bring in the heroin from Pakistan without detection, and distribute it through street pushers in Leningrad. In the last two years, Vasily's people had distributed a ton of heroin in Leningrad, and Vasily had made a ton of rubles in the bargain.

One thing he realized for sure was that if he made all the money he did, this organization of Americans made many more tons of rubles. Why the Americans came all the way to Russia to sell drugs, when there must be so many buyers with far more money in America, Vasily could never figure out. Especially since being caught in Russia would have very harsh Siberian consequences.

He received a partial answer to this question one night as he traveled with the American assigned to protect the shipment—an American always accompanied the shipment to the outskirts of Leningrad. The American, drinking a strong, amber colored liquor from a small bottle—to fight the cold night, he had said—became more talkative with each swig. He said they were able to get through the red tape and borders because they had inside connections, and safe planes, everything they needed to transport the product. In addition, the American said, the K.G.B. agents were all money hungry scumbags. This was a new word to Vasily.
Scumbag!
All Russians were scumbags, the American added, fucking scumbag enemies. If all their brains fried on heroin, it was no skin off his ass.

About a month ago, however, something went very wrong in their lucrative trafficking. New K.G.B. agents, ones that neither Vasily nor the Americans knew, unearthed a large network of Russians supplying heroin to Leningrad. The K.G.B. had not traced the heroin back to the Americans. Not yet. And, the Americans, not wanting the drugs to be traced back to them, became very agitated.

They told Vasily it would be better for he and his family to get out of Leningrad, preferably out of the U.S.S.R., immediately. In exchange for Vasily's silent cooperation, the Americans agreed to help Vasily and his family obtain papers to leave the country, help them to reach America and Arizona. Vasily was amazed that the Americans knew about everything in Vasily's life, his wife, her sickness, their daughter, everything.

Tatiana's left hand still held Bim close to her. No matter how many toys or presents, dresses, pairs of shoes that her Dad bought with the new riches, nothing, nothing, could ever take the place of Bim. It was he that she carried, then stuffed in the waist of her underpants, when she and her mother made their forays on the hospital trash heaps; it was he that was with her in bed at night, locked in her embrace, keeping her warm when there was little heat. It was Bim to whom she had always confided, when she hoped that her Dad would bring home some money, not so much for her, or for her mother, but for Dad himself, so that he would not feel so bad, would not think of himself as a failure, so he would no longer sit during the day, when his night meanderings resulted in nothing, looking out the window of his room trying to hide his tears of frustration and failure. There was a small hole in Bim's side where the stitching kept coming undone. But, the imperfection formed a secret place where she could fit the tip of her index finger and tickle Bim inside. Tatiana knew that she would never leave or part with Bim—ever.

Tears came to Tatiana's eyes as she glanced at her Dad sitting in the front seat of the car, smoke curling up and out his window. Over the last year, despite their finances improving, his mood darkened, his soul became pinched with suffering, as her mother's condition worsened. Even when he made arrangements with the Americans to get needed medications, thinking that this would be the magic cure for Inga's condition, it did very little good. Not even all of Vasily's rubles could buy or bribe the care Inga needed in Leningrad.

As they drove, Vasily had to convince the taciturn driver to stop the car because Inga had a convulsion of coughing. The driver was impatient, almost angry, saying something about appointments, people waiting. Inga forced herself to stop coughing, and they were off again in no more than a minute. As they started up again, Tatiana noted that there were only two more tablets left. They would be out of medication soon. They had to get to a doctor or hospital right away.

About 5:45 AM, while they were still some distance from the Russian/ Finnish border, suddenly, their headlights reflected in the tail lights of a car which appeared to be stopped far ahead on the side of the long desolate roadway. Their car slowed.
Why are you slowing?
Vasily asked. Their driver said nothing, stopping next to the other car.
Who was this?
Vasily asked. The driver said he could go no further with them, as it would not be convenient for him to be seen or to have to identify himself to the border patrol. The driver said that he would get out here, and that the other car—driven by another American—would bring him back to Leningrad. Vasily and the family were to travel the last ten kilometers on their own.

The driver exited their car and walked to the middle of the road to talk to the driver of the other car. The other driver stayed in his car, rolling down his window half way. Vasily opened his door and exited their car as well. Inga and Tatiana watched Vasily and the driver standing in front of the car bathed in the headlights in the middle of the frozen night. The engine was still going, the heater providing whatever inadequate warmth a Lada could. Inga began mumbling nervously to Tatiana. She didn't like this. Not in the middle of nowhere, not with Americans, especially this unfriendly man who was driving them. Vasily had told her the story about the drunk American on one of the trips he periodically took and how the Americans think of Russians as the enemy, as—she couldn't remember the exact words Vasily had told her the American used. “
They
are the enemy,” she whispered to Tatiana. “It is they who are the dogs with no souls.”

“Where are you going, Mamma?” said Tatiana as Inga began to stir out of the back seat.

“Here,” she said as she struggled to slide over the back of the forward seat, shifting into the driver's seat. The headlights still illuminated Vasily and their driver standing in front of the car. Vasily was standing on the left, closer to and facing Inga, Their driver, was on the right, with his back to Inga and Tatiana.

Inga, mumbling to Tatiana, to herself, that one must always be careful of Americans, silently stepped on the clutch and slipped the car into first gear. The driver's door of the other car began to open behind Vasily. He did not see, although Inga did, that the driver of that car was holding a pistol. She also saw their own driver reach into the right hand pocket of his coat and began to withdraw a dark, shiny, metal object.

Inga did not cough now. When the man emerging from the other car stood up behind Vasily and raised his arm with a weapon in hand, Inga, instantly, blew the horn, simultaneously, mashing the accelerator pedal to the floorboard and turning the steering wheel to the right. All three men in the road began to turn as the car lurched forward. Inga missed Vasily, hitting their American driver directly in the back of his legs, hard, sending him flying into the air. The car continued forward and pushed the man from the other car against the side of that car. They heard an agonized scream as the man's eyes went wild with pain. He was barely four feet from them, pinned by the hood of their car, unable to move, glaring with hate and pain directly into the dark interior of their car. Inga kept her foot on the accelerator, the wheels spinning on the frozen road, grinding their car into that American dog who would shoot her husband, until she pushed the other car off the road.

Vasily opened the rear door and jumped in beside Tatiana as Inga shifted into reverse gear. The wheels of their car spun again as the car tore backwards at the ground. The man who had been pinned to the other car, fell to the snow covered ground, rolling, screaming in blood and pain.

Inga pushed the gear shift lever forward, ground the gears, cursed, depressed the clutch again, shifted into first gear, and stepped on the accelerator. The man who had been their driver appeared on his knees near the front of the other car, now aiming a pistol at them. Tatiana saw his thin, long face, reddish hair, hate in his eyes. Inga drove right at him. He threw himself backward, as the car lunged forward. She turned the wheel, fish tailed on the icy road several times, and sped in the direction of the border.

Shots rang out from behind them as Inga ground the gears and up-shifted. A bullet ripped through the rear window of the car. Inga started screaming and praying as she drove, shouting to Vasily to protect Tatiana.

“Change gears, change gears,” Vasily shouted from the floor of the back seat. He was laying on top of Tatiana.

Inga shifted gears again as the car picked up speed, plunging into the night.

“Shift gears again,” said Vasily. He raised his head to look behind them. They were putting distance between themselves and the lights of the other vehicle that seemed to still be off the road, not moving.

In three minutes, lights no longer appeared behind them, Vasily had Inga stop the car, and move quickly to the passenger seat. He jumped out of the rear seat and took the wheel of the car. He drove as fast as he could on the icy road.

“What will we do? What will we do?” screamed Inga over and over, glancing behind them.

“You saved us, Inga. You saved us,” shouted Vasily, joyously, exulting in their escape.

“What will we do?” Inga said again, shaking uncontrollably with fright.

Vasily looked in the rear view mirror. There were no lights behind them. “We will go through. Say nothing,” he told Inga. “Say nothing,” he repeated to Tatiana. “We have papers. We will go through. You must be calm. Be calm,” he commanded Inga. “Breathe deep.” Inga began to force herself to calm down, nodding her head. “The Americans can not come and tell the border guards that they were trying to kill us, can they? We will make it.” He paused, shrugged. “Or we will be stopped.”

“Oh, my God, Vasily,” moaned Inga, “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!”

“Stop,” Vasily said sternly. “We will not be stopped.”

Inga stopped crying, but she could not stop shaking and moaning the entire way to the border. Tatiana was shocked into silence, squeezing Bim until he was ready to burst.

In another five minutes, Tatiana could see buildings and fences ahead, and bright spotlights that lit the entire checkpoint area of the border. She looked out through the rear window. There were no car lights. She saw two heavy wire fences ahead. They were parallel to each other, 50 meters apart, each fence topped with barbed wire. The fences stretched in both directions, disappearing into the darkness, entirely cutting off the border.

The space between the fences was heavily webbed with barbed wire. Where the road passed through the fences, guard houses and heavy control barriers blocked each side. Even if one of the gates was lifted, a car could proceed no more than ten meters before it came directly to a low, cement block wall. At this point, the road took a ninety degree turn to the left, where there was another cement barrier ten meters ahead. A car had to traverse around it, then travel another seventy meters to the Finnish side, where there was another set of cement barriers, ninety degree turns, another control barrier, and a guard house flying a Finnish flag.

“At this hour, there are supposed to be only two guards on each side,” said Vasily. “We must move quickly. On the day shift, there are many more. The Americans could come up behind us any minute to make more trouble. I don't think they would succeed, but we don't need any complications.”

A shadowy figure came to one of the misted windows of the nearest cement building. Shortly, a man in a heavy military coat, a fur ushanka on his head, an automatic rifle slung up-side down over his shoulder, came out and walked to the car. Vasily opened his door and exited the vehicle, beginning to speak to the man. Mother and daughter watched as he handed the family's papers to the man. Smoke curled out of their mouths as they spoke. They turned, both looking at the car. Inga began to cough, gently, at first. She stuffed the handkerchief into her mouth to stop herself. But her coughing grew more violent. Tatiana put her arms around her mother. Vasily leaned down to look through the window, his eyes silently pleading with her to control her coughing, urging Tatiana with a glance to take care of her mother. Tatiana began rubbing her mother's neck, sporadically glancing out through the rear window. There were no lights behind them—yet.

“Hurry, Daddy, hurry,” Tatiana was murmuring to herself, frightened, her lips trembling. Inga stuffed her handkerchief further into her mouth until she could not breathe. The coughing forced air out of her nose. A slick of cold perspiration covered her forehead.