Jason Overstreet: Beneath the Darkest Sky

“Sounds like Joseph Stalin,” I said.

“Believe me,” he said, “Hitler’s much worse.”

“Maybe they’re equally evil.”

“No,” he said.

“Then I’ll just put it this way. Stalin has shown me, very clearly, how absolutely evil he is. I’m glad you didn’t notice earlier the piece of my ear that is missing.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“Let’s just say you should completely disregard the cable I sent you, Bobby.”

“Come again.”

“Loretta and I are not getting a divorce. We never moved to Leningrad. And I have just gotten out of hell. I can’t waste another second not telling you this. The unthinkable happened to my family beginning seventeen months ago—August of 1937. We were all arrested for being so-called counterrevolutionaries. Stalin has had me, Loretta, and both children locked up in his barbaric labor camps for almost a year and a half—James and I in Magadan, Loretta and Ginger on the other side of the country in Kirovsk. It was only days ago at a Leningrad hotel that I took a proper bath for the first time since leaving Moscow. I should be dead.”

Bobby pulled the car to the side of the road, busy morning traffic buzzing past. He kept both hands on the wheel and we sat there with the engine idling. The shock on him was obvious; his eyes fixed straight ahead, his mouth agape. I looked down at my damaged hand and reminded myself once again what I’d always believed. Stalin was never going to release my family. He was going to use me up, call me back to the labor camp with the promise of releasing Loretta and the children, only to then execute us all. I felt it in my bones.

I also believed he was going to eventually kill Commander Koskinen, Director Pavlov, Colonel Zorin, and everyone else working for him, just as he had executed Sergei Kirov and the previous Dalstroi director, Eduard Berzin. According to Commander Koskinen, Stalin had also executed other prominent political leaders: Grigory Zinoviev, Lev Kamenev, Nikolai Bukharin, and Alexei Rykov.

“Listen,” I finally said. “I know you are shocked to have heard all of this, but I want to be very specific. Time is of the essence, Bobby.”

He turned to me, tears in his eyes, the blood gone from his face, and slowly nodded.

“I will tell you all of the details about what exactly happened—the camp I was in, the beasts I had to brawl, the commander who helped me send letters, a guard I had to kill, how a sick bastard made me believe Loretta and Ginger had died… and whatever else you want to know, but right now I need to ask you something.”

“Ask,” he said. “Please.”

“Do you have any contacts who deal in international undercover work?”

“Yes.”

“I need the best person you can find,” I said.

“Talk to me.”

“While you and Dorene were living in Moscow, we all knew about the arrests that were taking place, but they are much worse than anyone who hasn’t been inside the labor camps can imagine. A great man, a Trotskyist named Commander Koskinen, told me that in 1934 there were approximately five hundred thousand people in the prison camps. But, he told me that beginning in 1937 at least one in every twenty people in the Soviet Union was being arrested.”

“Good Lord,” said Bobby.

“He referred to it as the ‘Great Terror.’ Just before I left Magadan, Commander Koskinen claimed that their census showed that, as of the end of 1938, approximately two million people were in the prison camps. And the number of people who’d already been executed by then was even greater. Ambassador Bullitt couldn’t have known of the earlier number, and Ambassador Davies certainly must not have known of the latter.”

“I would think not,” said Bobby.

“In fact, I read where Ambassador Davies reported back to Washington that he’d seen some of the show trials. He claimed they were legitimate, and that only real criminals were being tried and convicted. Davies seemed all too keen on kissing Stalin’s ass. I guess Davies simply didn’t want Americans back home to know what was happening in the Soviet Union. But he did the president a disservice. His ambassadorship was an absolute embarrassment, and I believe he has blood on his hands. Son of a bitch!”

“My head is spinning, Press,” said Bobby. “Those numbers are astronomical. This is a fucking extermination.”

“It involves a company called the Dalstroi, and Stalin’s plan to do a myriad of things, which I’ll explain later. But it’s insanity. And somehow, someway, I managed to get out. I don’t for a second expect you or anyone else to negotiate my family’s release, as the politics—”

“Screw that!” said Bobby. “We’re going straight to the embassy to cable the president.”

“No! We absolutely can’t! If our government even broaches the issue, I’ve been told they will execute Loretta and the kids. Besides, Roosevelt can’t open that can of worms. There are many Americans in the prisons, Bobby. And I’m smart enough to know where securing the release of American expatriates ranks on Roosevelt’s long list. He got reelected in ’36 to handle the Depression. And he’s also got this monster named Hitler to deal with. Hell, you spoke of extermination earlier. Koskinen says Hitler wants to exterminate everyone on earth who isn’t part of the Aryan race. I’m sure the president sees the value of having Stalin on his side as Hitler threatens the world. I understand the politics.”

“I don’t want Loretta and the children to spend another second in prison,” said Bobby, wiping his wet eyes. “And just how did you manage to magically talk your way out—”

“I agreed to spy for Stalin. I told the Kremlin I would gather information from within the U.S. Embassy and have it delivered via train on the first Monday of every month. I have a contact here, a German communist who’ll deliver a briefcase to Valga. But, of course, I have no intention of gathering legitimate intelligence. I just need to buy time until I can execute my plan.”

“What plan, Press?”

“That’s where your international man comes into play. But first, can you help me buy time? Can we manufacture some plausible intelligence to hand over to Stalin?”

“Of course,” said Bobby. “We can send them some fabricated shit every month that will be solid enough to keep the waters calm. Just tell me your plan.”

“It involves trying to track down some targets in Riga, Latvia. I’ve written it all down while I was on the train. I’m still working through the logistics of the entire idea, but I know I need help finding these Latvians. If memory serves me correct, I recall the U.S. having good relations with Latvia. Has anything changed since ’37?”

“No,” said Bobby. “We have an Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary there now named John C. Wiley.”

“Who is your international man?” I said.

“I’m thinking of an old Military Intelligence veteran named Dallas Conrad. He does off-the-books intelligence work for high-paying clients.”

“I’ll pay you back. Just make sure—”

“Don’t you dare say that,” said Bobby. “I will take care of this, and I will spare no expense. Just tell me what you have in mind.”

“I’ve actually said all I want to say about my plan at this juncture. Saying anything more today is pointless, because if the targets don’t exist, the plan is dead. If they do exist, I simply need this Dallas fellow to locate them.”

“What if they don’t exist, Press?”

“I have a plan B, but I don’t want to even discuss it until we exhaust this one. I’m afraid if I tell you anything more about either idea, you’ll try and stop me. And I can’t afford a moment of delay.”