Me.
In spite of everything, Olga was the only person who looked out for me. If she had lied, there must be a reason. I would have to trust her. I had no one else left.
I heard him speak abruptly into the receiver, the short, sharp sounds of an order. Then he moved around the desk, his footsteps creaking on the floorboards. When he reached for my arm, I yanked it from his grasp. Captain Volkov said nothing, merely ushered me to the door.
‘Go downstairs, now,’ he commanded. ‘The car will be waiting. Tomorrow you’ll go back to Moscow and be your father’s daughter.’
Without another word, he pushed me out onto the landing and slammed the door closed.
In the hallway, I stood staring at the walnut panelling with the sign attached that bore half my name. Volkov. Lydia Volkova. That name was a lie.
I reached out and touched the brass. It was warm. My fingers left a smudge over the letters that I did not bother to wipe clean. A gust of air blew along the corridor, carrying a whiff of tobacco smoke from the rooms either side of Captain Volkov’s office. I could hear typewriters whirring, men’s low voices. A row of windows ran alongside the corridor, overlooking the courtyard behind the office block. I walked over and stared down between the bars that cast bands across the carpet runner. The courtyard was fenced, crowned with coils of wire. So different from the street façade, with its bland windows and columns, its arched door.
What other secrets was this building hiding?
From somewhere to my left, a scream pierced the air, shocking me out of my thoughts. It came again, louder but less shrill now. It was primal, a sound of unearthly pain. I ran back towards the stairwell Lieutenant Lubov had led me up earlier, my feet thudding on the concrete.
The screaming ceased. Just like that, it was gone. But the sound of it continued to echo, trapped in my head. Blindly, my feet found the bottom of the stairwell and I stumbled out into the reception hall.
‘There you are, Lida!’
Olga hurried towards me, a worried look on her face. I hesitated, resisting the urge to shout at her, to demand to know why she had lied to me all my life. But the shock was too much. I fell into her arms.
‘There now.’ Olga’s arms were around me. ‘There, Lydochka. What’s wrong?’
I shook my head. I wanted to sob and bury my head against her shoulder. To confess everything my ‘father’ had told me. But I could only hug her as tightly as possible. ‘Did you hear it?’ I said, instead. ‘Somebody was screaming.’
The reception hall seemed cold after the warm brightness of the corridor upstairs. I shivered in my thin blouse. There was a police officer standing guard near the front doors and Lieutenant Lubov lounged against the wall beside him, engaged in conversation. It was as if they hadn’t heard the screams at all.
With her arm still about me, Olga shuffled towards them. ‘Lieutenant!’
He turned towards her, his grin fading.
‘Yes, comrade?’
‘Lydia tells me she heard screaming.’
The Lieutenant glanced at his companion and then back at Olga. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. There are holding cells upstairs. Sometimes informants are taken there.’
‘To be tortured?’ My voice choked. I had heard of such places, of course, but the sound of that gutteral screaming sent a tremor of horror up my spine. Was that how Joachim had sounded as they questioned him? Had he screamed and begged for mercy? Or had he agreed to whatever false crime they had accused him of, haunted by the cries of those in the holding cells around him? The thought made me want to retch. I couldn’t tolerate standing in a place where such horrific events were even now occurring. The very air seemed tainted and sour with fear. I placed my hand flat on my stomach, pressing hard.
‘An unfortunate part of the judicial process, I’m afraid.’ Lieutenant Lubov strode across to our waiting luggage and handed me my suitcase. ‘Some people won’t give up their information easily.’
‘But who are they?’ I asked through dry lips. I knew. Deep down, I knew.
Lieutenant Lubov shrugged. ‘What does it matter? Some are farmers, intent on withholding their land, unwilling to allow the state to collectivise. Others help bandits like the ones you saw this morning, giving them shelter or food.’ At my sickened expression, Lieutenant Lubov raised his eyebrows. ‘They are always offered a choice. Most of them are happy to comply. Sometimes they need a little encouragement, though, to be convinced.’ He nodded at me. ‘I have arranged a car to take you both to Captain Volkov’s townhouse. It is waiting out the front.’
‘Oh.’ Olga’s creased face drooped a little. ‘I had hoped to speak with your papa, Lida. It’s been so long since I saw him. He is well, I hope?’
I bit my lip, feeling the sweat gather beneath my arms, unable to meet her gaze.
‘He is well,’ I mumbled. ‘He wants us to return to Moscow, though.’
‘So soon?’ Olga said. She fussed with her hands. ‘But why? We’ve only just arrived.’
Her confusion was painful to see. I needed to tell her I knew the truth but I could not do it with Lieutenant Lubov hanging about. I would have to wait until we reached the townhouse, where we could speak in private.
She watched me, waiting for my reply. I tried to answer her but the words stuck in my throat, tiny crumbs of truth I could not swallow.
Lieutenant Lubov moved quickly between us. ‘Captain Volkov is well but, sadly, very busy. Your arrival has coincided with a very delicate operation and although he probably wishes he could be a better host, I imagine he will not be able to give you the full force of his attention until it’s concluded. I’m sure he will send for you then.’
Olga pursed her lips in disappointment but she could not argue. ‘That’s kind,’ she said. ‘It’s been many years since we spoke, the Partorg and I. Too long.’ Pacified, she allowed Lieutenant Lubov to usher us into the street.
Outside, a cool breeze danced with the Soviet flags attached to poles on the façade above us. A car waited beside the kerb, black and glossy, its engine purring. Olga began to berate the driver for not helping with her suitcase. Pink-cheeked, the young man hurried out to assist her.
Lieutenant Lubov moved to the other side of the car to swing the door open for me. ‘That’s twice today I’ve rescued you, Lydia Volkova. Once at Tiksoja and just now, with your friend.’ His gaze lingered on my face as I eased myself into the car’s interior, breathing in the scent of carbolic soap mingled with the sharp fumes of alcohol. A familiar smell, the same as all the cars in Stalin’s fleet. A reminder that everything, even the truth, could be scrubbed clean.
I rolled the window down as far as it would go so that air rushed into the car.
Lieutenant Lubov lingered near the door. I wanted him to go, but like a wraith he continued to hover. I turned my head away, hoping he would leave. Instead, he stood beside the window, his shadow falling across my face.
‘Your father seemed surprised to see you,’ he said.
I looked down at my skirt. It was stained with dust. ‘I fear the note we sent did not reach him. There was a misunderstanding.’
‘Ah.’ He shifted slightly.
I shielded my hand against my face to block out the sunshine slanting in the window. ‘Is there something you wanted, Lieutenant?’
He muttered beneath his breath and then leaned in suddenly, so close I could smell the cloying pine scent of his aftershave. ‘You should be careful not to go out tonight. Don’t try to leave the complex.’
A gust of wind blew up the street and the flags snapped in their holders. Golden sickle. Glittering star. Moscow’s symbols of triumph.