June 10, 1941
Moscow
“Have you lost your mind?”
Stephen avoided Alexsey’s eyes, but he found himself staring at the envelope that she thrust toward him like a weapon. Inside the envelope was the letter he had written to his family, which he had hoped was subtle enough to avoid drawing any attention from the censors who read every outgoing or incoming piece of mail. Obviously, he had overestimated his own cleverness.
Make a joke of it, he told himself.
“Sorry, Director, but I guess my brain got addled from too little sleep.”
Even he had to admit his words sounded lame.
Alexsey tossed the envelope onto her desk and slammed it with her closed fist. In her other hand she held a lit cigarette.
“Do you think this is funny? You’re not an idiot, are you?”
Stephen shook his head. There was nothing humorous in the glare in her eyes. It reminded him of the faces he and his high school buddies back in Talsi would make when they thought they were imitating lunatics, not that they had ever seen a real one.
She’s not pretending, he told himself. She’s mad enough to kill you.
“This,” Alexsey picked up the envelope, “this could get you killed.” She puffed on her cigarette. “And more to the point, could get me fired. Luckily, my people caught it. If it had made it off campus you’d be on a train to Siberia right now. And that would be only if you weren’t lying in an unmarked grave with a bullet in the back of your head.” She tossed the cigarette onto the floor and stomped on it with the heel of her boot.
Stephen stared dumbly at the envelope. This isn’t high school, he thought. Yet, almost in defiance of his thoughts, he heard his voice say, as if he were giving an excuse to the school principal, “I didn’t realize—”
“Bullshit! You knew exactly what you were doing.”
She lit a cigarette and turned her back on him.
True enough, he thought.
One of their exhibition matches had been at Bialystock, a troop depot in the middle of nowhere on a river that he thought appropriately named the Bug River. The Russian presence hadn’t done anything for the place. The base consisted of countless rows of tents clustered about crude wooden buildings. Overhanging the whole installation was the odor that came from nearby trenches full of raw sewage.
They had played their match on a muddy field in the pouring rain. Amazingly, the soldiers, hundreds of them, stood in the downpour and cheered them on as if they were playing for the World Cup.
Afterwards, the team had been taken on a horseback tour of the frontlines by an officer, ostensibly to display the might of the Red Army. Stephen, who was stunned by the shabby state of the soldiers’ uniforms and equipment, looked across the river from astride his horse and shook his head in disbelief at the rows and rows of German tanks, all of them twice as large as the four rows of pathetic looking Russian tanks that faced them. The German tank lines were so deep that it was impossible to count them. They blurred into a solid gray mass that looked like a wall stretching for miles back into the open fields bordering the river.
They’ll get past the Russians in an hour, Stephen thought.
That wasn’t how their officer-guide saw it. He had waved at the German sentries who stood in groups on the opposite bank.
“Like all friendly competitors,” their guide said, “we enjoy showing off to one another.”
But the Germans didn’t wave back. Far from it, they appeared to be jeering at the Russians.
“We’re just like you athletes on the field. You compete, but once the game is over—”
But his words were drowned out by the sound of planes flying low overhead. Despite the rain, Stephen could make out the markings on the wings: Germans.
Holy shit, Stephen thought, they might be getting ready to invade right now.
Once back in Moscow, Stephen decided he had to warn his parents and Rachel—they had to get out of Latvia immediately. If they couldn’t get into Sweden or Palestine, they would have to come to Moscow. From there they could go to Tashkent.
There was no phone service between Moscow and Talsi. Telegraph service was unreliable. The best he could do was send a letter. His mother had warned him never to say anything like this in a letter, but he had to do it. Their lives were at stake. He wrote that things were “too serious” for him to come home for Rachel’s wedding, that they should think about moving the wedding to Moscow and even staying here once they were married. He also described the scene at the Bug River, folding it into an account of the exhibition match.
He had thought his warnings subtle enough. Until now.
“I apologize,” he said, unsure whether Alexsey even heard him.
“Your apology isn’t worth shit to me.”
She turned and came around the desk. From just a few inches away she stared at him. He looked away, unable to endure the rage he saw in her eyes.
“I promise it won’t happen—”
“Shut up!”
No one had ever spoken to him like this. He forced himself to meet her eyes. He saw nothing recognizable there, only a blankness that made him wonder if he should run from her office and attempt to escape. But where would he go? Latvia? The Germans might beat him there.
“I’ll keep you on the team,” she said. “But you’re in my custody until further notice. You can’t leave your room unless it’s for meals or to use the bathroom. You can leave the dorm only for classes or practice. You’ll return to your room afterwards. No letters—I’ll personally look at anything that comes for you. And no personal contact with anyone who’s not involved with the team. Especially your family. Clear?”
“Yes.”
“Any violation of my rules and you’re out. And don’t think you’ll be sent back home.”
Stephen wanted to ask what would happen to him. But she was waiting for him to ask and he wouldn’t give her the opportunity to spell it out.
Whatever it is, you don’t want to know, he told himself.
Alexsey waved for him to leave, puffing on her cigarette.
Without saying another word, or looking back, he fled out the door.