Before he jumped, Kirov turned and looked back in the direction from which they had come. He could make out little more than the silhouettes of houses and the tumbledown fences which separated their gardens. Wind slithered through the grass, whose brittle strands crackled like electricity. Just then, Kirov caught sight of a dog, loping along the alleyway. As the animal drew close, Kirov realised that it was, in fact, a wolf. It stopped at the end of the garden, then turned and looked at him, its mean, thin face spliced by the iron railings of the gate. They watched each other, man and beast, breath rising like smoke from their nostrils. There was something about its stare which snatched the last faint trace of warmth from Kirov’s blood and he felt colder than he’d ever been before, as if a layer of frost had formed around his heart. The wolf moved on and Kirov scrambled to catch up with Pekkala.
Report on Arrest of William Vasko
Pekkala, Special Operations
Dated December 10th, 1937
REPORT CENSORED
In accordance with the instructions of Comrade Stalin, I have conducted an interview with William Vasko at Lubyanka, where he has been held in solitary confinement since his arrest and transfer from the Ford Motor Car plant in Nizhni-Novgorod. The circumstances of his arrest involved allegations that he was attempting to flee the country illegally, along with his wife and children. Although I have found no documentary evidence of this, Vasko readily admitted that he had planned to return his wife and children to the United States, which is their country of citizenship. However, Vasko denied that he himself intended to flee and further questioned whether such a departure would have been illegal, even if he had chosen to do so. Vasko initially refused to divulge the reasons why he was choosing to send his family away. However, when I travelled to Nizhni-Novgorod and began interviewing some of his fellow American workers, it soon became apparent that they believed Vasko to be behind the arrests of numerous other workers at the plant. In fact, by the time I arrived, over half the workforce had been taken into custody on charges ranging from sabotage to subversion to threats made against the leadership of the Soviet Union. His former comrades at the factory firmly believed that Vasko’s reports to Soviet security services had caused a large number of them to be arrested. These workers readily admitted that they had threatened Vasko with bodily harm if he did not immediately resign from the plant’s workforce.
On my return to Moscow, I interviewed Vasko for a second time. When confronted with these accusations, Vasko admitted that he had denounced a number of them to the authorities. However, he went on to explain that [the following section of the report is blacked out] xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. Vasko’s journey to the Soviet Union was xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. Vasko asserted that his wife and children were not aware of xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. When he realised that his workmates had stumbled upon the truth, or part of it, at least, fearing that his life was in danger, he did indeed attempt to resign from the plant. His request was denied, however, and he was forced to continue his work. Over the next few weeks, Vasko’s situation at the plant continued to deteriorate. He received threats on an almost daily basis and he was otherwise shunned by his colleagues. He began to believe that his family were also in danger. After one final appeal to quit the plant was denied, he took the first steps towards repatriating his wife and children to America. This, he believes, is what led to his arrest. He expressed concern that his wife might be forced to leave the housing provided for her at the plant and that she had no means of income. He had not heard from her, nor had he been allowed to make contact since his arrest, and he no longer knew whether she was still receiving his salary. He implored me to look into the matter personally and also to make his situation known to xxxxxxxxxxxx of xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, who, he believed, could secure his immediate release.
My subsequent enquiry to the Ford Motor Car plant revealed that Mrs Vasko left her housing in Novgorod and that she is currently staying at a homeless shelter in Moscow.
My enquiry to xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx of xxxxxxxxxxxxxx has not yet received a response.
My recommendation is for Vasko’s immediate release and for the swift location of his family, with whom he should be united. Given the innocence of his wife and children, I recommend that their return to the United States be granted if that is the family’s wish. As for Vasko I recommend that xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
Signed — Pekkala, Special Operations.
HANDWRITTEN NOTE IN MARGIN: Complete report suppressed. Authorise immediate transfer of document to Archive 17. Signed — JS.
Having reached the safe house, Pekkala stopped next to an opening in the wall which had been camouflaged with the tattered remains of a German army blanket. He pushed aside the frozen wool and ducked inside, followed by Kirov a moment later.
They found themselves in what had once been a root cellar. The air was still and damp.
After climbing a ladder, they emerged on to the ground floor of the house. It was dark until Pekkala lit a match and then a soft glow spread around the room, revealing a table in the centre, surrounded by an assortment of dilapidated chairs. Against the walls, Kirov saw a crumpled heap of discarded clothes which the former occupants had used for bedding. Some were made from the dull field grey of German army cloth, others from the strange pinkish brown of Russian uniforms and one, which had either been riddled with bullets or else chewed by rats, Kirov couldn’t tell which, bore buttons crested with the double-headed eagle of the Tsar. He could almost hear the lice scuttling along the seams. The place smelled of sweat and tobacco, and the exhausted air felt heavy in their lungs.
Pekkala found an oil lamp resting on the windowsill. He lit the wick and carried the lamp over to the table.
Kirov looked around the dingy room. ‘You call this the best place in town?’
‘You’re welcome to find someplace else.’
There was no arguing with that. ‘And you think we will be safe here?’ he asked.
‘We used this as a hideout during the entire occupation. Every building on this street was searched at one time or another, but this one they left alone.’
‘But why?’
‘The owners died of typhus.’
‘Typhus!’ exclaimed Kirov. ‘We should get out of here immediately!’
‘Relax,’ Pekkala told him. ‘This house has saved more lives than it has taken.’ He picked a coat off the pile and spread it on the floor. Then lay down on it and pulled another coat on top of him. ‘Now get some sleep. Tomorrow you will meet the Barabanschikovs.’
Reluctantly, Kirov sat down with his back against the wall. In spite of the cold, he set his heel against the pile of dirty clothes and pushed them all away.
For a while, he sat there, hugging his ribs and listening to the storm howl down the chimney. He felt pain where the bullet had gone in, as if some small, persistent creature was gnawing its way through the scar. Leaning over to the lamp, he doused the light. Blackness crowded in around him. ‘I suppose there is nothing to eat?’ he asked.
He received no reply. Pekkala was already asleep.
*
Just before dawn, Pekkala awoke with a start. He sat up and looked around. The first grey slivers of dawn showed through cracks in the boarded-up windows.
On the bare floorboards beside him, Kirov lay curled in a ball and shivering in his dreams.
Rising to his feet, Pekkala picked up one of the coats and draped it over Kirov. Then he climbed down into the root cellar, pushed aside the blanket and stepped out into the ditch which had been dug along the edge of the house.
His first breath was like pepper in his lungs.
It had snowed in the night. Even the ruins looked clean.