He slipped out of the crusher silently. Sticking to the shadows, he moved toward the dacha. The plan he had roughed out that afternoon as they trudged down the slope to the crushing shed was to have Verra seduce Keradin. She had to make sure that she got Keradin to his room no later than two hours after sunset, and then Cobb intended to take him when he was naked. Somehow a man was obviously weaker and much easier to control that way.
In a few minutes Verra had detailed where the guards were normally stationed at the dacha, the location of Keradin’s bedroom, and which others were adjacent to it. The separate barracks where the slave laborers were housed were considered the major and only source of trouble by Keradin’s guards. They had control over the neighboring villages and saw little chance of trouble from the outside.
That afternoon when he shuffled down the hillside, kicking up dust with tired feet, Cobb saw something he could use — a discarded wine barrel lying on its side not far from the balcony outside Keradin’s room. If she was as equal to her part of the bargain as Cobb anticipated, Keradin would hear no noise. She promised that the sliding glass door would be ajar.
There was a quarter moon that night, not enough light to be seen by, not even if he were within ten yards of someone. Only the white walls of the dacha stood out. It was a country home, a retreat. There had never been a need for spotlights or illumination alongside the single-lane, dirt road, and no traffic existed at night this far from Yalta. This was true country, a place where Soviet officials could relax.
The main house, facing the Black Sea, was lighted primarily in the main dining area where, Verra explained, all the parties took place. It was there, each evening, that Keradin and his staff would bring the women they chose from the barracks. Alcohol — vodka, wine, and brandy — flowed, and sumptuous meals were served. After dinner and brandy, one by one they would drift up to their rooms. Cobb could see some of the rooms lit now. In the one to the left of Keradin’s, the light was extinguished as he watched. Having sex, no one would be listening for strange sounds.
Creeping up to the wine barrel, he rolled it, slowly and quietly, toward the balcony outside Keradin’s room.
Less than ten feet from the balcony, Cobb heard a door open at the far end of the building, by the dining area. Leaving the barrel, he slipped back behind a setting of small bushes lining the front patio area. A man walked out onto the front deck, stretched, then stepped down onto the lawn, unzipping his fly. He looked over in Cobb’s direction, spying the barrel. He meandered toward it, his hands still working at his fly. Looking up at the balcony outside Keradin’s room, he obscenely extended a finger in the general’s direction as he relieved himself on the barrel. When he was finished, he spat in Keradin’s direction and extended his finger again.
All is not well among the chiefs, Cobb thought, trying not to think about the barrel he had just appropriated. Remembering the foreman’s suspicions, he wondered at the hatred and distrust among men who worked so close together. The man wandered back to the front porch, taking his time, looking from side to side. He stopped, turned, and looked back at the barrel as if he hadn’t remembered it being there. Muttering something under his breath that Cobb could not hear, he finally sauntered back inside. Cobb waited to make sure the man did not return to consider the barrel further, then slipped out from behind the bushes. He rolled it toward the balcony, awkwardly trying to grasp it only at the top end, the still-dry part. But he quickly admitted that he couldn’t get a good hold on it that way. What’s a little used vodka? he thought.
He turned the barrel on end at one corner of the balcony, then crept backward to survey the building once more. The lights were now off on both sides of Keradin’s room. That meant that one was being used and the other… more than likely they were also indisposed.
Standing on the barrel, he grasped the edge of the balcony. Silently swinging up with his feet, he knelt momentarily on the edge, then pulled himself up slowly, peering over the railing. There was a light on inside, but curtains were drawn on this end. He pulled himself very carefully over the railing until both feet were planted on the deck. Then he dropped to his knees and crawled to the other end of the balcony.
Just as Verra had promised, the sliding glass door was ajar, open about three inches. He could hear voices inside. Listening, he identified both hers and Keradin’s. The sentences were short and sharp. Her voice rose, followed by his. They were arguing — and that wasn’t part of Cobb’s plan. She was supposed to keep him occupied, not angered. He put his ear close to the opening and listened.
Keradin had an extraordinary sexual imagination, especially when describing his own prowess. But tonight, whatever he suggested, Verra would not go along. Soon Keradin was whining, wheedling, but she would still not cooperate.
Obviously, Cobb realized, Verra was distracting him so he wouldn’t be watching the curtains. Stealthily, not moving the cloth more than a centimeter at a time, he pulled back the curtain until one eye peered into the room. Indeed, Verra had insured that Keradin was indisposed. He was buck naked. In his hand was a camera that looked very much like one of those instant developers which were so hard to obtain in the Soviet Union. It was easy to understand what he had in mind and obvious why Verra was protesting.
It was also obvious why she had become the general’s favorite. Her hair was swept up. She was perfectly made up and she wore expensive, ornate jewelry. But that was all. Cobb was sure he had never seen a more gorgeous woman.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed. The general was a few feet away from her with his camera, trying to convince her to pose. She would have nothing to do with him. While he pleaded, she looked down at the floor or in the direction of the curtain as if she was hoping Cobb would burst through in that instant and come to her rescue.
But Cobb waited. He had to be sure that Keradin was totally occupied with his own pleading rather than with where her eyes were roaming. Once Cobb was satisfied, he moved the curtain ever so slightly when she looked in his direction, just enough so that she would know it wasn’t the evening breeze. She saw the motion, he was sure, but gave no indication of it. She looked down at the floor again, then back in his direction. Again, Cobb moved the curtain, this time keeping his eye there. She saw it, nodded slightly, and looked back at the floor.
What the hell do I do now? Cobb wondered. The argument renewed. It was finally settled when Keradin agreed that he would pose for her first and then she would reciprocate. A clever girl! Cobb thought.
She offered a number of suggestions for poses, each of which met with an argument from the General. But when it was made clear that her poses would be definitely determined by what he agreed to, the man had no choice. First the general placed a bedside table on top of the mattress. Then he climbed precariously on top of it, his head scant inches from the ceiling. Verra tossed him his hat, which he put on after much discussion. Cobb was about to enter at this point when he thought better of it. The man was still in a position where he could move fast.
The next pose was more to Cobb’s liking, with Keradin lying on his back on the table. This would be it, Cobb thought. When the general appeared the most uncomfortable, Cobb moved quickly into the room, sliding the door shut behind him with one hand, the other holding the gun steadily on the prone general.
Keradin remained motionless, his eyes moving from the girl to Cobb and back again.
“There were a couple of times I wondered,” she said, still standing in the same spot with her camera. “It seemed you were never going to show up.”