Barracks Number Two
Solovetsky Island
The Same Day
Nikolai lay in his comfortable rack, quite upset. He couldn’t believe the news when they told him that his underling, a vor v zakonye, a thief-inlaw, had been murdered by one of the political prisoners. As the head of the vors at Solovetsky Monastery, he had total dominance over all of the prisoners. He was the most feared man on the island, and he was not used to having his will thwarted. Especially galling was the fact that one of his vors had been killed. The guards were out of the building, as usual, so they couldn’t identify the killer. According to their reports to the guards, none of the political prisoners allegedly saw anything. Nikolai’s fury grew as he lay there, and he had his suspicions about who the culprit was.
It had to be that crazy laborer, the one who was always working like a slave. That bastard who was in solitary confinement all those years. The one that everyone called Moryak. I know Moryak did it, he thought to himself. That sailor boy must be taught a lesson in respect. No one ever defied Nikolai. Not back in Odessa, not in Moscow, and certainly not here. This Moryak would be taught a lesson. One he might not survive.
The next night, the guard admitted one of the vors to Barracks Number One. After inquiring about Moryak, the guard pointed to the far table where several prisoners sat discussing politics. He walked over to the table and demanded to know where he could find the one called Moryak. One of the prisoners pointed over to the corner rack where Morrison lay on his back. The vor walked over to the side of the rack and announced, “Nikolai wants to see you.”
Morrison remained stationary, lying with his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. Without looking directly at the stranger beside his rack he replied, “Who the hell is Nikolai?”
“Nikolai runs things in this camp, and he wants to see you, now!” His shouting of the last word caused all the other prisoners in the barracks to look over toward them. Morrison looked over at him, slowly put his feet on the floor, and stood up. He and the vor were roughly the same height. Morrison looked him directly in the eye and said, “Tell Nikolai that I’m busy.” Sitting slowly back down, Morrison reclined onto his rack, again resting his hands behind his head.
The vor flushed with anger, but he just stood there and did nothing. He had seen something in this Moryak’s eyes that frightened him. This man is crazy, he thought to himself. He’s got the crazed eyes of a killer. Never before had he feared any of these political prisoners. This man is different, he thought. He is not at all like the others. The vor stood there a minute and then stormed out of the barracks.
After returning to Barracks Number Two, he sheepishly walked over to Nikolai. “Where the hell is he?” demanded the vor leader.
At first, his underling couldn’t look his leader in the eye. Head down and shoulders hunched forward, he mumbled softly, “He says he’s busy.”
Furious at what he had just heard, Nikolai grabbed his messenger by the shirt and jerked him up until his face was inches from his. “What the hell did you just say?” he roared.
His lower lip trembling with fear, the vor again softly replied, “He said he’s busy.” As soon as he finished speaking, Nikolai slammed his fist into his abdomen, dropping him to the floor. Writhing in pain, he gasped, “Please, Nikolai, that man is crazy! I believe he would have killed me! You should see the look in his eyes! I tell you he’s a crazy killer.”
“No, you stupid bastard, I’m a crazy killer!” roared Nikolai.” I’m the one you should worry about killing you! I’ll take care of this man tomorrow!”
The following day the prisoners resumed their daily routine of working in the swamp. As usual, Morrison worked the hardest and had his shirt off due to the heat. His muscular torso glistened with sweat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several vors sitting off to the side chatting and motioning toward him. After a while, one of them stood up, stretched, and yawned vigorously. His unbuttoned shirt revealed multiple tattoos all over his chest and arms. A large tattoo of an eagle adorned his chest, and his protuberant belly draped over his trousers. A large metal cross-like medallion on a chain dangled from around his neck. He smiled at his colleagues and sauntered over to where Morrison was working. Stopping at the edge of the swamp, he called over to Morrison. “Hey, you!” Initially, Morrison ignored him, and he repeated, “Hey you! The one they call Moryak!” His booming tone assured that all of the other prisoners heard him.
Morrison stopped and firmly planted his shovel into the mud as he straightened up. Looking over to Nikolai he responded, “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you! Come over here, now!”
Morrison realized that this must be the infamous Nikolai. He also noticed that the eyes of all of the prisoners and guards now were trained on him and Nikolai. Obviously, this would be Nikolai’s chance to demonstrate his dominance. Morrison purposely walked slowly over to the edge of the swamp. He stepped up onto the dry land and stood facing the vor. Nikolai looked over this political prisoner from head to toe. He appeared to be very fit and actually appeared somewhat muscular, an unusual characteristic in this environment. The underling didn’t exaggerate — he did have the crazed, burning eyes of a killer. Finally, the vor spoke. “I’m Nikolai, you disgusting maggot, and I run things here. You understand?”
Morrison said nothing and just stared at Nikolai. Another real tough guy, he thought to himself. Just a fat tub of lard, a blow hard. Another punk. He just shook his head with disgust and turned to walk away. This act of disrespect infuriated Nikolai, who screamed, “Do you hear me? I run this prison! You and every other maggot in this camp will bow to my will!”
As he ranted, Morrison returned to his shovel and lifted a spadeful of mud out of the water just as Nikolai stopped yelling. Morrison smiled at the vor whose face seethed with rage and flung the shovelful of mud over to the edge of the swamp where Nikolai stood. The mud hit the water, splashing the dirty water all over Nikolai’s legs. For a moment, the stunned vor remained speechless. All of the prisoners collectively held their breath. Finally, Nikolai exploded. “You’re a dead man, Moryak! Do you hear me? You are a dead man!” Turning on his heel, he stomped away and Morrison returned to his work.
When the tension finally dissipated, a very agitated Constantin scurried over to him. “Comrade Moryak, are you crazy? Are you insane? Do you not realize with whom you’re dealing? Do you want to die? You must have a death wish!”
Continuing to shovel mud onto the levee, Morrison calmly replied, “No, Constantin, I don’t want to die. I thought I made that clear to you. Please don’t worry. I know how to deal with this Nikolai character. Just because he scares the shit out of everyone else on this island, I assure you, he doesn’t scare the shit out of me.” He stopped working and stuck his shovel in the mud. Facing his friend, he put his hand on Constantin’s shoulder and smiled. “Look, don’t worry. I’ve got a plan to deal with him and maybe make the lives of all the prisoners in Barracks Number One a little more bearable. Just trust me.” Lowering his voice, he continued. “Spread the word to all members of our barracks. If any vor ever gets admitted to our barracks at night, make sure that I’m signaled and awakened if I’m sleeping. That’s all I ask of any of our fellow political prisoners. Do you understand?”
Taking some deep breaths, Constantin began to calm down. “All right, comrade, all right. I’ll trust you to do it your way.” He smiled gamely and started to walk away when he turned and said, “In some ways, you scare me, Moryak. You know I am a friend and an admirer. I think the world of you, and I pray you’ll make it out of this hellhole to join my comrades and me. But you scare me. You really do. There is a certain part of you that is dark and dangerous.” He turned and continued to walk away.
* * *
It took two nights for Nikolai to make his move. One of his fellow prisoners awakened Morrison from a sound sleep, whispering, “Moryak, wake up! There’s a small group of vors assembling near the door of the barracks and the guard just walked out to them. I think something is about to happen!” Morrison thanked him and quickly bolted out of his rack. From under his rack, Morrison pulled out two sacks full of rags and placed them under his blanket, which he pulled over the top of them. In the dark room, it would appear that he was still in his rack. He quickly stepped into the shadows in the corner of the barracks. In his hands, he held the knife and the small club that Josef had provided for him. I owe Josef for this, he mused to himself.
In less than five minutes time, the door to the barracks opened and with deliberate stealth, two vors entered and began walking toward Morrison’s rack. The other prisoners lay still pretending to sleep, just as Morrison had instructed them to do. They all watched in the darkness as the two thugs made their way slowly and quietly toward Morrison. They both wore long overcoats and, as they approached Moryak’s rack, they pulled out the long clubs they had hidden under their coats. At the side of the cot, they each held their clubs in the air as they looked down at the immobile body completely covered by the blanket. “This is a love letter from Nikolai!” shouted one of the vors as they began to smash their clubs down on the inert figure in the rack.
They had not seen Morrison maneuver behind them in the darkness. When the vor on the left lifted his club up for the third time, Morrison used his own club to block the attacker’s weapon by hooking it over the vor’s club. He simultaneously smashed his knee viciously into the small of the assailant’s back. With an agonizing scream, the vor began to crumble. As he did, Morrison slammed his club into the side of the man’s chest, splintering his ribs. The other assailant, realizing what had happened, pulled a knife from his belt. He lunged at Morrison, who swung his club at him but missed. The vor managed to stab him in the left shoulder, causing him to drop the club. “C’mon, Moryak! Let’s see what you got! I’ve got permission, no, orders, from Nikolai to kill you if necessary!”
Morrison pulled his knife out of his belt, and the two men stood facing each other in the darkness. By the way he moved, Morrison could see that this vor was an experienced knife fighter. However, Morrison had anticipated a situation like this one, and he knew that his fellow prisoners would do what he had trained them to do. The two combatants lunged at each other and continued to jockey for position while the crowd of prisoners formed a circle around them. Facing outward from the circle, Alexandr picked up the edge of a blanket covering a large lantern on the floor in front of him.
Lighting a match, he quickly lit the lantern and used the blanket to block the light. On the opposite side of the prisoner’s circle, directly facing Alexandr, Constantin waited until Moryak had the vor in the correct position. After a series of jabs at each other and attempting to achieve favorable position against one another, Morrison’s back was directly in front of Alexander, and his opponent now faced him directly. “Now!” shouted Constantin.
Alexandr immediately pulled the blanket off the lantern and the bright light blazed directly into the vor’s eyes, blinding him. Morrison lunged forward and smashed his fist into his opponent’s face, knocking him off balance.
The vor slashed out at Morrison, but his blade only caught Morrison’s blouse sleeve. As his momentum rotated him slightly, Morrison plunged his blade deep into the vor’s lower abdomen. The man let out a scream of agony and froze, as Morrison grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. The assailant’s face, only inches from his own, had a wide-eyed look of shock and disbelief. With firm, steady pressure, Morrison pulled the knife blade directly up the man’s abdominal cavity, effectively slicing apart his internal organs. As the man began to go limp, Morrison spit in his face and let go. The vor crumpled to floor and was dead before he hit it.
Morrison turned to the other vor who lay on the floor, gasping for breath. The man posed no further threat. He then looked up at his fellow prisoners who stood there, stunned at what they had just witnessed. “Thank you for your help, comrades,” he offered, as he heard the small crowd begin to murmur.
“What happens now, Moryak?” asked one of his colleagues as he brought over some cloth strips to tend to Morrison’s arm wound.
Morrison smiled and replied, “Now we send a message to these guys. They need to know who the real boss is. You see, a lot of this is all bluster and positioning. Power through intimidation. They aren’t used to being intimidated. Believe me, they won’t like it. Bullies always feel like tough guys when no one fights back. I’ve been fighting jerks like this all my life. I know what I’m talking about. Now, who has the ink that I need?”
Outside the barracks, five vors waited patiently for their partners to emerge with the one they called Moryak. Nikolai had been clear in his instructions: feel free to rough him up, bring him out, and tie him up.
Then bring him to Barracks Number Two where he would be taught a lesson in submission and obedience. They hadn’t heard any noise coming from the inside, and they certainly knew that the political prisoners — the ones that they referred to as the sheep — wouldn’t lift a finger to help Moryak. It remained fairly quiet when the door slowly opened. Suddenly, a very bright light shining from three glowing lanterns blinded them.
They heard a loud thump hit the ground near them, followed by a second one and soon screaming and gasping could be heard. The lights were suddenly extinguished and all went black again. After about a minute, their eyes adjusted to the darkness. What they saw shocked them. Nearest to them lay one of their colleagues, naked and dead. His abdomen had been sliced open from his pubic bone to his breastbone and his bloody entrails protruded out. In addition, his throat had been slashed and blood had gushed out all over his torso. His wide-open eyes bore witness to his horrible death. One of the five vors immediately began to vomit.
Closer to the doorway lay the second attacker. He moaned and wailed loudly and could barely breathe. Tears streamed down his face. In a strained whisper he called out, “Help me, comrades, help me!” They rushed over and found him naked, but wrapped in a bed sheet that had been affixed to his chest with a knife that had been tunneled under the skin of his chest wall. Over the bottom part of the sheet, a message announced in black ink, “Tell Nikolai that I’m still busy. I’ll meet with him tomorrow. Moryak.” Totally shocked, the horrified vors looked at each other.
They had never witnessed anything like this carnage. This Moryak; how could one man be so ruthless and fearless? Was it possible that he was more intimidating than Nikolai? Each man mulled those thoughts over as they lifted the bodies of their two broken and dead comrades and carried them into Barracks Number Two.
* * *
Twenty-five vors lived in Barracks Number Two, in addition to twenty other petty criminals. It became obvious to Nikolai that each of them very much feared this Moryak. After they brought the two bodies back into their barracks, the ones who brought them in couldn’t stop talking about the crazy and terrible Moryak. Nikolai soon realized that they seemed to fear this Moryak more than they feared him. This is unacceptable, he thought. This situation had rapidly spiraled out of control and had to be resolved rapidly. This intolerable dilemma became even more obvious to him when he ordered one of the bitches to simply deliver a written message to Barracks Number One for Moryak. “Please, Master,” they each begged him, “don’t make me go over there!” The last one got on his knees and started kissing Nikolai’s feet. He savagely kicked him out of the way. After all of the vors expressed fear of confronting Moryak personally, Nikolai realized that the problem had become critical. They did fear Moryak more than they feared him. He had to act now. He finally bribed one of the guards to deliver the message.
When the prisoners returned from work the next evening, Moryak found the message that Nikolai had sent him. Most of the prisoners gathered around him as he read it, eagerly waiting for him to reveal its contents. He finished it and sat there deep in thought. Finally, Constantin could no longer take the suspense. “For God’s sake, Moryak, what does it say?” he blurted out.
“He wants to meet me in Barracks Two at midnight. He wants to come to an understanding between us. He wants me to come alone.”
“You are certainly not going to go, of course! That would be suicide!”
“No,” countered Morrison, “I’ll go. We might as well end this tonight. I’m getting tired of all of this, and I think you are, too. Even Nikolai seems to be getting tired of dealing with me, so I think tonight we’ll get everything straightened out.”
“You can’t be serious!” blurted Alexandr. “You know it’s a trap. How can you simply walk right into it? Please, Moryak, if something happens to you, we are all doomed!”
He looked at all of his colleagues gathered around them, touched by their genuine concern for him. “Please, comrades, I’ll be prepared. Now, leave me alone so I can write a message. When I’m done, we’ll need to bribe the guard to deliver it, so please gather up some bribe money amongst yourselves.” The prisoners began to disperse, leaving Morrison to his writing.
Just before midnight, Morrison arrived at the door of Barracks Number Two. Two vors escorted him inside and ordered him to remove his coat. After complying, they frisked him. “He’s clean,” one of them declared. They then escorted him to the far end of the barracks. All of the residents’ eyes remained fixed on this mysterious mad man that they had heard about, the one called Moryak. At the end of the barracks, Nikolai sat in a large chair, slapping a baton-like stick into his other hand. Must think he’s a king on his throne, thought Morrison. Some ugly-looking henchmen flanked either side of him. As he arrived in front of Nikolai, Morrison said, “You wanted to meet with me? Here I am.”
Nikolai threw his head back with laughter. “Moryak,” he bellowed, “I can’t believe you are so damn stupid to come in here alone and unarmed! You know that I am going to have you killed! You had to know that!”
“I don’t think so,” replied Morrison. Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass on either side of the barracks interrupted their conversation. Four rifle barrels protruded through the windows as Josef yelled, “All of you, back against the wall! Now! Move!” The surprised vors at first stood still until Josef fired a round into the wall over one of their heads. They moved as ordered against both walls, in perfect sight for all of the armed guards to shoot if necessary. Only Nikolai and Morrison remained in place. “All right, tough guy, let’s end this now!” challenged Morrison. At first, Nikolai just sat there, turning purple with rage. This bastard Moryak had insulted him again. He had tricked him again. He had to die!
With a guttural yell, Nikolai leapt out of his chair toward Morrison, smashing his head into his chest and knocking him over backward. As Morrison hit the floor, he momentarily had the wind knocked out of him. Nikolai landed one good punch into the side of his head, but Morrison rolled away before the second one hit him. Nikolai’s fist crashed painfully into the floor. Like a wrestler, Morrison quickly maneuvered free and sprang to his feet. He delivered a fast kick to Nikolai’s flank that momentarily stunned him. Morrison pulled him to his feet, punched him in the abdomen, and then kicked him in the groin. As Nikolai doubled over in pain, Morrison clamped a hand around his throat and straightened him up to his feet. After delivering a punishing right hook to the head, followed by a left hook, Nikolai crumpled to the floor, lying breathlessly on his side. Morrison walked completely around him once and stopped to kick him in the ass. He then paused and appeared to be in deep thought.
Propping his nearly unconscious foe up on his knees, Morrison positioned himself behind Nikolai as he removed the vor’s leather belt. Wrapping it around Nikolai’s neck, he began to pull it tight until his victim started to gasp. A few of the vors started to rush in, but stopped at the sound of the bolts of the guards’ rifles depositing a fresh round into the chambers. Morrison continued to pull the belt tight as the struggling Nikolai started to turn blue and went limp. Suddenly, he let go of the belt and let Nickolai collapse in front of him, still alive.
Morrison stood up and straightened his shirt. He looked around the room at all of the vors and petty criminals assembled there. The silence in the barracks was deafening. “Listen up, you pieces of shit!” he announced. “I’m Moryak, and I run things in this camp now. Do you understand me?” he roared. The assembled criminals meekly nodded their heads. “Good. Let’s understand each other. If any of you enter Barracks Number One without my permission, I will kill you. If any of you anger me in any way, I will kill you. In fact, I just may decide to kill you because you are each disgusting animals, and I can’t stand looking at you. That is my prerogative, understand?” Hearing no response, he bellowed, “Understand?” Everyone again nodded.
“Should you ever want to speak to me, you have to ask my permission. God help you if you ever open your disgusting mouths around me without asking first!” He looked over at Nikolai who was now awake and starting to move. He watched as his beaten foe finally managed to sit up. Morrison looked up and continued. “That brings me to this guy, Nikolai. As far as I’m concerned, he is a fat, sadistic, sick bastard like all the rest of you. However, in spite of being a lowlife scumbag, he is my number two man. That should indicate to you how low all of the rest of you all are in my eyes. He is in charge of Barracks Number Two, and you will all obey him. If you don’t, he has my permission to deal with you any way he sees fit. We will work out any other details later. Now, are there any questions, you disgusting maggots?” No one dared say anything. “Good!” Morrison said. “I didn’t think there would be.”
He reached down, took Nikolai’s hand, and pulled him to his feet. Looking him straight in the eye, he stated, “I think I made myself clear, Nikolai. Don’t make me come back here again. Understand?” The vor just nodded in assent, finding it difficult to look directly at Moryak.
He then turned and began to walk toward the door. As he passed each criminal, they looked at him with a totally new respect. He was in charge now. Once he walked through the door, the guards withdrew their rifles.
When he entered Barracks Number One, all of the residents mobbed him. Many hugged him, delighted that he appeared safe and unharmed. They started chanting, “Moryak, Moryak!” over and over. He finally sat down and they poured him some vodka that they had acquired recently from one of the guards. “Tell us, Moryak, what happened in there?”
Downing his vodka, Morrison replied, “Nothing really, we just worked out a few details. Comrades, I think things will be just a little better for us all from now on!”
As he lay back on his rack that night, it occurred to him that he had achieved a goal that he had longed for all of his life. He was admired and accepted for his deeds. You were wrong Professor Michelson, he thought. I have won their respect and their friendship. I did it by becoming a killer. A cold-blooded killer.