Birth of an Assassin Read online

  “Hold on a minute, Comrade,” Jez said, as he caught up. “Were you looking for crew?”

  “No,” the other answered, belching, the effort causing him to fart. He wafted a hand behind his butt. “None of them appeal. And neither do you, with that silly grin on your face, so you needn’t ask.”

  Foul smelling, dirty, obnoxious – but he still seemed a good bet. “I don’t want work, but if you’re going the right way, I might pay for a ride.”

  The man’s face brightened. “I’m going to Volgograd with a barge-load of clinker.”

  “And that’s where we’re headed. I’m sure if you’re willing to take us we can settle a price without too much argument.”

  “Why would you want to go by river when it’s faster by train?”

  “We’re in no hurry. I have my three sisters with me, and we want to watch the scenery and enjoy the ride. If there’s enough room for all of us, I can pay.”

  “Enough room, yes, there’s enough room,” he told Jez. “I suppose if the money was right I could do it. And I ask no questions. That skin-low haircut of yours: convict, are you?”

  “Certainly not, and it wouldn’t make a difference if you did ask questions, we’ve done no wrong.” The right words – but spoken too quickly.

  Chapter 11

  Rudi Olav’s father was a bargeman and his father before that, and he saw no reason not to follow the line. Hard work to load and unload, true, but easy enough between ports and the freedom was everything. Nothing could better being alone. He didn’t know what misanthropic meant, but was quite aware of how much he hated people. Money, a little gambling, and vodka – now they were another story; he loved them all with a passion. And if a few extra rubles could be made without too much fuss, he would happily take the money and drink to the venture.

  Current business looked good too: the slim man didn’t look much, but something wasn’t right. An escaped convict or maybe a soldier on the run? Rudi would put money on it. Obnoxious, too. No, he didn’t like him. He smiled and burped – no surprises there… But he could see there was money to be made. He’d agreed a good price for the trip and when “Slim Jim” paid the first half up front, he’d pulled a huge wad of currency from his jacket. Rudi had an idea that the rest of it would soon be coming his way.

  *

  “Here he comes now,” Miriam said. “Why did he want us to wait downstream?”

  Jez noticed her bounce on her toes as she spoke – nervous excitement. “I don’t know. I suppose he had reason not to want witnesses, but as far as we’re concerned that’s a good thing.”

  Jez stayed up on deck while the girls went below. When Miriam returned she stood by his side as they watched the rush of the wide Volga River stream by.

  “I can’t believe how our lives have changed in such a short time, Jez. I would never have believed we’d be together again.”

  “We still have a long way to go,” he said. “I don’t want to dampen your spirits, but we are in danger until you’re aboard ship and on the Black Sea. At that point, you can relax and enjoy the trip. Until then, please think with care.”

  “We’ll be fine, but I do understand...” She pushed her hair from her face. “I think the bargeman’s a funny old fish, don’t you?”

  “Yes, and I’ve met tidier people.”

  As he answered, Lydia came on deck. Hands clasped and shoulders narrowed, she shuddered. “Ooh that Rudi, now I can imagine the smell of the stygian boatman.”

  Jez and Miriam looked at each other and laughed.

  *

  By the time it was nearly midday, Jez and Miriam found themselves alone, watching the countryside drift by. “The barge doesn’t turn a bend in the river without Rudi asking one of us why we’re on the run,” Miriam said.

  Jez looked back to where Rudi sat, and even now he was carefully studying them. “He can’t be trusted, no doubt, but that was why I chose him. An honest comrade might have reported us before we’d left Saratov.”

  “The girls are afraid of him. He gives them the creeps.”

  “There’s not much left of the journey and nothing comes easy, remember?”

  Silence settled as they watched the gentle ripples race to the riverbank, the barge ploughing a pathway through, impervious to the water’s resistance.

  Miriam pulled her long hair from under her collar with both hands. “Do you ever think of Momma?”

  “What sort of question is that? Of course I do.”

  “After all these years she still cries for you.”

  “Oh Miriam, I am wrong, I know, but what could I do? What can I do? I’ve always sent part of my salary home. And I wrote – without response.”

  “No, but Momma cherishes those letters. And Poppa doesn’t want to answer letters, he wants you home.”

  He looked into her face. It hurt being reminded of family duties. But he didn’t reply. He wouldn’t know what to say. They turned a new bend in the river and another tributary joined them; the barge picked up speed as the new flow pushed at the stern. They gazed out in silence.

  The next afternoon Rudi moored up and approached Jez. “We part company tomorrow,” he began, “around midday. Would you like to make the final payment now? And talking of money, I think we need to reconsider the price.”

  “Oh and why would you think that?”

  “You’re obviously on the run. I want more cash or I’ll report you to the authorities when we get to Volgograd.”

  “Look, Rudi, I try to be reasonable. Believe me we’re not in any kind of trouble. Your tone sounds aggressive and I have no desire to hurt you, so I suggest we just forget this conversation and stick to the agreement we made in Saratov.”

  Jez questioned why he had felt the need to provoke Rudi. A much bigger man, he looked down at Jez and gave a guttural laugh.

  “Oh right, no desire to hurt me. Yes, of course you’re right. I mean, I wouldn’t want to stir the mud in those waters, would I?”

  As Rudi laughed again, Jez brought a hand up under his chin and locked a vice-like grip on his trachea. Using what he’d learned in Spetsnaz, he tightened the hold and added pressure to the jugular. A little tighter and he’d crush the cartilage. Saliva dribbled and Rudi’s face contorted. Panicked hands grasped at Jez’s wrists, but then stretched out in surrender as he gurgled and sucked at thin air.

  Jez held the grip and Rudi’s eyes rolled. He lowered the dead weight to its knees as Rudi’s face drained of color. His eyes watered and became red-lined. Like a rabid dog, bubbles blew from his lips. Jez knew that if he didn’t free him, Rudi would die.

  “Jez!” a voice shouted.

  He turned to see Miriam with a face of panic, and his mind jumped. The task. He had to get the girls out of the country. If he killed Rudi, they’d be hunted down by the authorities. Let him go.

  “Have we cleared the air?” he asked as he released his grip.

  Sanity came back to Rudi’s face, his eyes shrank to size and his lungs pulled for oxygen.

  “Yes,” he croaked. “I had it wrong.”

  He crawled a distance before he got to his feet.

  Jez said, “I didn’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to cheat you. Here, take your money and we’re even.”

  Rudi took the money and staggered to the end of the jetty. He brought both hands up to soothe his neck, and disappeared from sight.

  Jez turned to Miriam. She was no longer alone. The three girls stood together with their arms linked, as they had in Red Square.

  “Was there really a need for such violence?”

  His head felt heavy and his gaze fell to his feet. But he forced it back up defiantly. “I’m sorry, Miriam, but what you saw was a glimpse of the real world.”

  “Oh Jez, what have you turned into? Do you really believe you can justify such brutality?”

  “It was necessary,” he said, and brushed past the women as he went below deck. He wanted to be out of their sight. He wanted to find a place where he wouldn’t feel sullied.

 
; *

  Rudi returned in the small hours and drunkenly crashed into everything in his way. But the next day neither alcohol nor aggression deterred him from being up and ready to leave. By the time the girls breakfasted, the barge had begun its final lap for Volgograd. If Rudi had been right about the arrival time, there’d be plenty of daylight to find lodgings.

  Chapter 12

  Volgograd represented intensive urbanization out of control, but they found shelter more easily because of it.

  “You had a choice of three different rooms,” Rachael said, “and you had to pick the worst. They’ve even had to move their children out for us. Poor little mites look half starved.”

  Jez stared out over a plethora of smokestacks that pushed up murky silhouettes and scarred an otherwise clear skyline. “They’re the lucky ones,” he replied. “I’ve seen poverty you’d find hard to imagine. Many parents put their malnourished offspring into state-run homes just to get food in their bellies. Once they’re in those places, they are forgotten. Even now, the state doesn’t recognize the existence of orphans.”

  Miriam appeared to have forgotten the “Rudi” episode, and smiled. “You’re not so tough, are you? You took this room because of the children.”

  He shrugged. “I should worry for the sake of a few rubles? But now I think I may have jumped too quickly. There’s a workers’ bar we have to go through to get in or out of the building.”

  “But there’s no one there,” Lydia said.

  “Not now, but there will be. If we get back late, who knows?”

  By mid afternoon, they’d found and made a deal with a bargeman due to leave the following morning. But because food was scarce it took a long time to find it, and they returned late, as Jez had feared. In the bar, workers gathered in small groups and their rowdy drinking sessions were already in full swing.

  Lydia rushed ahead before Jez could stop her. A man reached out, grabbed her arm and used her to pull himself to his feet. He wrapped his free arm around her and laid it heavily across her breasts, drawing her close to him.

  “Now you’re a pretty little thing,” he said, and pressed his face against the side of her head, sniffing deeply into her hair. “I’ll wager you hoped I would reach out to you?”

  Lydia looked like a small trapped bird. “No,” she cried, “I wasn’t, please let go.”

  Terror filled her eyes. This situation was worse than with Rudi. Here, there were witnesses to tell the tale. Jez pondered too long and Miriam stepped forward.

  “Please don’t manhandle my sister like that. You can see she’s only a slight girl,” she said, mouth set in a straight line, brow creased in concern.

  The worker laughed. “She doesn’t feel so slight to me,” he said, and pulled his arm tighter over her breasts.

  “I should have said frail... She has a terrible disease. That’s why we’re traveling, so she can see our parents one last time.”

  The man freed Lydia quicker than if she’d had leprosy. “Diseased? Then she shouldn’t be allowed out in a public place,” he said, and wiped the palms of his tainted hands on trousers that only made them dirtier.

  Heads lifted towards them. Worried expressions revealed white circles around dark eyes in sooty faces.

  “It’s not contagious,” Miriam assured them. “It’s a degenerative disorder, but incurable all the same. Please show a little compassion.”

  The drinkers mumbled amongst themselves and turned away. The molester tried melting into them, but didn’t quite get away with it. “Well how was I to know…?” was the last Jez heard him say, as the crowd berated him.

  Upstairs, Jez smiled but was embarrassed. “I don’t know, Miriam: still the great storyteller?”

  “That’s right,” Lydia interjected, her bottom lip quivering as she rubbed at her arm. She took off her coat and dusted it down. “Just a joke to you, but it wasn’t funny. Have you any idea how much that man frightened me?” She dropped her coat, cupped her hands over her face, and wept.

  “Oh Lydia,” Jez said. “I’m so sorry.” He embraced her. “I wouldn’t want to upset you, my sweet little sister. I made a joke of it because I’m relieved it didn’t get any worse, that’s all. I was worried. Are you hurt?” He caressed her back.

  “No,” she picked up her coat. “I think he pulled the stitching on the sleeve, but I’m all right. I know you didn’t mean anything. It’s just… I was scared,” she said.

  Miriam rolled up the sleeve on Lydia’s dress, revealing a few near invisible red marks on her arm. “No skin broken,” she said wryly, kissing the blemish and giving her a little hug. “You’ll be all right.”

  *

  Next day they rendezvoused with the bargeman, a German Engel who’d brought timber downriver from Dubovka. He’d enjoyed a couple of days in Volgograd before going on to Rostov with the load.

  The journey progressed. The barge left the Volga, took a canal that joined the River Don, and went downstream until they stopped at the town of Kazach-na-Donu to refuel.

  “Keep your fingers and toes crossed, Miriam. With luck, you’ll soon be free of Soviet soil and out of danger.”

  “Yes, but without you,” she said.

  They got to Rostov early afternoon, Jez paid the skipper and they left the jetty in search of rooms.

  “The people here are more cosmopolitan than we’ve seen so far,” he told the girls, “and ships from around the Black Sea are everywhere. I have to find a captain who can be bribed into taking you on one.”

  “You need to find a captain? Does that mean you don’t want us tagging along?” Miriam asked.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what it means. It wouldn’t be right for you to go where I have in mind.”

  “Oh… I see.”

  *

  Jez settled his sisters into a room that was no better than a fleapit, and left for the bars in the dock area. He needed to find a place where alcohol wouldn’t be the only attraction.

  “Excuse me,” he said, to a passerby. “Can you suggest a place round here where a man can get a drink – and perhaps a little more?”

  “Yes, surely,” the man replied all knowing. “There’s a small club that should be open about now. Down there,” he pointed along the quay, “two doors past the seamen’s mission.”

  “Thank you, Comrade, believe me the timing is just right,” he said. The man nodded and walked on.

  The hinges on the door creaked as Jez entered. He smiled. A place used as often as a brothel shouldn’t have squeaky hinges. He hadn’t noticed from outside, but the windows were boarded up. Early or late, the club would give the impression of night. He supposed it made sense: easier to get a sailor in the mood.

  Inside was an empty bar where only the scent of perfume and liqueur lingered, but then a girl popped up from nowhere and asked, “What can I get you?”

  Under the dim lights, he hadn’t noticed the small quarter-circle counter she now filled. He joined her at the bar and smiled into an open, pretty face. “Just vodka for now,” he said, and winked.

  “Sit down, I’ll bring it over.”

  He found a corner where he could watch the human traffic, and sipped slowly at the vodka. Four sailors walked into the bar who weren’t from Soviet soil: slip-on leather shoes that ran to chiseled points; long soles that came past the end of the shoe and wrapped over the toes; baggy trousers, loose white shirts, dark waistcoats and, to rubber-stamp the notion, two of them sported heavy black handlebar moustaches. There was no doubt: they were Turkish. They took a table in the opposite corner, and their entrance must’ve hit the magic number because, almost immediately, half a dozen women filtered into the room.

  One of the girls sauntered over to Jez. “Would you like a little company?” she asked. “Maybe buy me a drink?”

  He looked her over. “Yes, sit. You will have vodka,” he said, already knowing the reply.

  “I’d rather have champagne.”

  “I’m sure you would, but vodka is what I offered.”

  She was
a young girl, possibly too young. Slim and pretty, she wore a low-cut black dress that exposed too much of a generous cleavage. “Vodka it is then,” she smiled.

  Jez bought her a drink and they chatted. Older than he first thought, she was easy on the eye and good company. Desires of the flesh might have won out under different circumstances – but there was no time for distractions.

  He heard the sailors speak Russian – poorly – but the way their business went with the girls, it was good enough. The women took them through a curtained doorway, and it wasn’t a lifetime before they returned to the bar – alone: business done. Time to try his luck. He finished his vodka in a gulp.

  “Sorry,” he said to the girl, “I’ve a little business to attend to.” She looked a bit bemused when he left her and approached the group. “Err, may I join you?” he asked, centering his attention on the one with a skipper’s cap.

  “Why, what you want?” he replied, in a Russian dialect so bad that Jez wondered how a deal had been struck with the girls. But then he smirked and thought again. Don’t be silly.

  The adjacent table had a free chair. He pulled it up next to the captain and sat down. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you.”

  On a need to know basis, he shared his hopes with the skipper, telling him honestly of his quandary.

  “Istanbul next port,” the captain said. “If money good, we women board, they cabin share. Already women crew, be okay.”

  A tortuous conversation outlined a plan of action, and Jez agreed to bring his sisters to the dockside at nine the following morning.

  Chapter 13

  Hidden in an alleyway as near to the dock entrance as possible, Jez waited for the Turks to show. He’d positioned himself close enough to the gatehouse that he could hear most of what might be said and would be able to see what went on at the same time.

  “It’s almost ten, and the plan is already off target. I think the skipper’s let me down. I’ve been stupid.”