CHAPTER 22

And so we were moved.

They put us in a train car. I think the previous passengers had been a herd of cows.

No one told us exactly why we were being transported south to Moscow. Nobody gave us any explanations.

“It is the Russian way,” Larissa said stoically, which is how a lot of Russians say stuff. They figure life’s ups and downs (mostly downs) are just part of your destiny and there’s nothing you can do to change it, so you just have to be tough and slog through it without complaining. Stoically.

“This stinks,” said Tommy, and he didn’t mean the cattle car. “I refuse to, you know, just accept that if my life sucks there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Being raised on the Lost, we were all taught that we were the masters of our own destinies. That we could do and be anything we wanted to do or be—as long as we worked at it hard enough. Plus we complain a lot. We Kidds would’ve made terrible Russians.

So no way were we going to take our imprisonment lying down.

Especially not in a smellerific cattle car.

Surprisingly, when we arrived in Moscow, we weren’t immediately sent to the dungeons of Lefortovo Prison.

Nope. We were sent someplace even worse: the Butyrka.

But, much to our surprise, we weren’t tossed into another dark, dismal, and depressing dungeon.

“We just wanted to make sure you saw all the prisons included in your tour package,” explained a very accommodating guard.

“This really is a tour?” I blurted out. “With the shackles and everything?”

“Da,” said Larissa. “One of our most popular tours. Right up there with the Red Army tour, where you get to visit Stalin’s secret bunker and the Leningrad siege museum!”

“This way,” said the guard. “We have prepared some light Russian refreshments.”

“Now, if you please to finish your tea and refreshments,” said the guard, “we will go see the Big Boss, who officially released you from the incarceration.”

“The warden?” asked Mom.

“No,” said the guard. “The Big Boss. The, how you say, head honcho. He is at the Kremlin.”

“Whoa!” said Tommy. “We’re going to see Vladimir Putin?”

“No. President Putin is busy wrestling a bear. You will see someone else. Please, eat your blintzes and blini quickly. We do not want to keep the big man waiting. He is easily angered.”

Okay, this whole Russian adventure was becoming ridiculously scary—but also kind of scary-cool.

And the cheese blintzes with jam and sour cream?

Scary-delicious!