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Vladimir was looking aimlessly out of the window, unable to concentrate on his schoolwork, when he saw Mr. Karpenko coming out of the building. It was the third time that week. Where was he going at this time of night? Perhaps he should find out.
Vladimir quickly left his room and tiptoed down the corridor. He could hear loud snoring coming from the front room, and peeped in to see his father slumped in a horsehair chair, an empty bottle of vodka lying by his side. He opened and closed the front door quietly, and then bolted down the stone steps and out onto the street. He looked to his left and spotted Mr. Karpenko turning the corner. He ran after him, but slowed down before he reached the end of the road.
He peered around the corner, and watched as Comrade Karpenko went into St. Nicholas’s church. What a complete waste of time, thought Vladimir. The Orthodox Church may have been frowned on by the KGB, but it wasn’t actually banned. He was about to turn back and go home when out of the shadows appeared another man, who he’d never seen at church on Sundays.
Vladimir slipped around the corner, but remained out of sight as he edged his way slowly towa
rd the church. He watched as two more men coming from the other direction also made their way inside. Vladimir froze when he heard footsteps behind him. He leaped over the wall and lay still. He waited until the man had passed before he crept through the graveyard to the back of the building and an entrance that only the choristers ever used. He turned the doorknob and cursed when it didn’t open.
Looking around, he spotted a half-open window above him. He couldn’t quite reach it, so using a rough stone slab as a step he pushed himself up off the ground, and tried to grab on to the ledge. He managed it on his third attempt and with a supreme effort pulled himself up and squeezed his slim body through the open window before dropping down onto the floor on the other side.
Vladimir made his way silently through the rooms at the back of the church to the nave, where he hid behind the altar. Once his heartbeat had returned to almost normal, he peered around the side of the altar to see a dozen men seated in the choir stalls, deep in conversation.
“So when will you share your idea with the rest of the workforce?” one of them was asking.
“Next Saturday, Stefan,” said Konstantin, “when all our comrades come together for the monthly works meeting. I’ll never have a better opportunity to convince them to join us.”
“Not even a hint to some of the older hands as to what you have in mind?” asked another.
“No. Our only chance of success will be surprise. We don’t need to alert the KGB as to what we are up to.”
“But they are certain to have spies in the room, listening to your every word.”
“I am aware of that, Mikhail. But by then the only thing they will be able to report back to their masters will be the strength of support we have for forming an independent trade union.”
“Although I have no doubt the men will back you,” said a fourth voice, “no amount of rousing oratory can stop a bullet in its tracks.” Several of the men were nodding.
“Once I’ve delivered my speech on Saturday,” said Konstantin, “the KGB will be wary of doing anything quite that stupid, because if they did, the men would rise as one, and then they’d never be able to squeeze the genie back into the bottle. However,” he continued, “Yuri is right. You’re all taking a considerable risk for a cause we’ve long believed in, so if anyone wishes to change their mind, and leave the group, now is the time to do so.”
“You won’t find a Judas among us,” said another voice, as Vladimir stifled a cough. The men all stood as one to acknowledge Karpenko as their leader.
“Then we will meet again on Saturday morning, but until then we must all remain silent, and keep our own counsel.”
Vladimir’s heart was thumping as the men rose and shook hands with their leader, before leaving the church. He remained crouched behind the altar until the voices had faded, but he still didn’t move until he finally heard the great west door slam shut and a key turn in the lock. He scurried back to the vestry, and with the help of a stool, wriggled out of the window, clinging on to the ledge before dropping down to the ground like a seasoned wrestler. The one discipline where Alexander wasn’t in his class.
Aware that, he didn’t have a moment to lose, Vladimir ran in the opposite direction to Mr. Karpenko, and headed toward a street that didn’t need a NO ENTRY sign, as only party officials ever entered Stalin Prospect. He knew exactly where Major Polyakov lived, but still wondered if he had the nerve to knock on his front door at that time of night. At any time of the day or night, for that matter.
When he reached the street with its leafy trees and neat cobblestone pavement, he stood and stared at the house, losing his nerve with every second that passed. He finally summoned up enough courage to approach the front door. Vladimir raised a fist and was about to knock when the door was flung open by a man who didn’t like to be taken by surprise.
“What do you want, boy?” he said, grabbing him by the ear.
“I have information,” said Vladimir, “and you told us when you visited our school last year looking for recruits, that information was golden.”
“This had better be good,” said Polyakov, who didn’t let go of his ear as he dragged his unwelcome visitor inside. He slammed the door behind him. “Start talking.”
Vladimir faithfully reported everything he’d overheard in the church earlier that evening, and by the time he’d come to the end, the pressure on his ear had been replaced by an arm around his shoulder.
“Did you recognize anyone other than Karpenko?” Polyakov asked.
“No, sir, but he mentioned the names Yuri, Mikhail, and Stefan.”
Polyakov wrote down the names before he said, “Are you going to the match on Saturday?”
“No, sir, it’s sold out, and my father wasn’t able to—”
Like a conjuror, the KGB chief produced two tickets out of an inside pocket and handed them to his latest recruit.
“Thank you, sir,” said Vladimir, beaming.
