In the Shadow of Mordor

Chapter 10

He sat for a long time behind the wheel of his father’s car before the idea struck him. There was only one place in the city where he was always welcome, where he would find a reliable and brave person, and where he could easily conceal a document among hundreds of identical dog-eared folders — the modest basement apartment in Maliy Karetniy.

As soon as he crossed the threshold and stepped onto the steep stairs leading to the basement, Marya Fedorovna Golovina rushed to meet him.

“Vlad, my dear, dear boy,” she cried. “Please come on in. I know. I know everything… My God! You poor boy.”

Vlad was normally irritated when women made over him as though he were a little boy, but it was impossible to resent Golovina.

“I’ll make tea,” she said.

This was no time for tea, but he accepted the invitation.

She conducted him to the room that served as an office, the same office that the tough guys from “Svoi” had invaded. There was a small electric burner on a counter along one wall, and she busied herself with the kettle.

“I can’t stay long, Marya Fedorovna. I have work to do.” He was now feeling guilty for what he was about to ask her. “I want to leave something with you for safekeeping, if it’s OK,” he said as Golovina poured the tea and set a plate of waffles on the table.

His words tumbled over one another, sounding jumbled and confused to his own ears, “It’s the recording my father made with the former FSBnik, the one who directly accused Solntsev of having managed the bombings in Moscow on orders from the Kremlin. This was why they killed him. And I have the official report on explosives in Ryazan, the original, and it confirms that the sacks contained RDX — hexogen.”

Golovina’s face turned hard.

Vlad realized at that moment how much he and other Russians owed to this old woman who had been beaten but not broken by the Soviets and now was persecuted by their successors. It was remarkable to see how this fragile old lady transformed suddenly into the fearless dissident of the past, molded by decades of caution.

“And what are your plans?” She transfixed him with a stare.

“I don’t know. Even father’s old editor refuses to print it. I’m thinking of giving it to someone in the West.”

“Correct,” nodded Golovina. “But it’s not enough simply to hand the proof over to western journalists. You have to go to the West yourself, as soon as possible, preferably to America. Get any kind of visa you can, even a tourist visa. Tourist visas can be valid for a long time. You might be able to take advantage of some sort of study grant. I’ll get word to Williams at the American Embassy to see if he can do anything. And as soon as you get to the States, ask for political asylum. Only then should you take this material to a serious media outlet.”

Vlad was discouraged. He had not expected to encounter such a serious and uncompromising tone from her.

“Wait a minute, Marya Fedorovna, I don’t plan to leave Russia. This is my country, after all. I was born and raised here. Let them leave. We could get an article published that would rid the country of this bunch of thieves and murderers.”

“Vlad!” Golovina was so agitated that she half rose from her chair. “Don’t you understand who you’re dealing with? This isn’t just a gang of common criminals. By now you should know how pitiless and powerful they are.”

Vlad barked a humorless laugh. “You’re the third person in the past two days who’s told me I don’t know what I’m mixed up in. I know what you’re talking about. But if all of us run away, hide, give up without a fight, these maniacs will slit our throats one by one. I can’t just surrender the country to them because I’m scared. My father was no coward.” His throat constricted as he forced out the last words.

“Your father was a great man, and someday he’ll be honored as a hero in Russia, but leaving doesn’t mean giving up the fight. Your greatest weapon is the truth, but here no one is allowed to speak it. Sometimes from abroad it’s possible to do much more than you can here.”

No, my father will never be thought of as a hero in this country, no more than you are considered a hero. Even now, after so many years, after all the truth that was revealed about Soviet times, they smear you with mud. Russia has always destroyed her best people.

“I must identify the people who killed my father. I can’t leave without doing that. And my mother is all alone now. May I leave these papers in your files? And I’ll be grateful if you could ask Williams about getting them published.”

“Of course,” said the old dissident, resigned to the young man’s stubbornness. She’d seen it before in others, had been in their place as her friends disappeared one by one into the Gulag. “You may leave whatever you wish. I’ll contact Williams today. And don’t worry about me. They’ll never take me alive.”

Vlad couldn’t contain a smile at Golovina’s stab at black humor. “Take care of yourself, Marya Fedorovna. If any of those bastards show up here again, call me.”

She surrendered a haggard smile and a final warning. “Agreed. But please think about getting out. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for the sake of your father’s legacy. There are too many people who need you to stay alive.”

Vlad returned home full of gratitude for this sturdy old lady who had endured so much.