Peter Marshall - The Russian Lieutenant

They took photographs of each other and asked another visitor to shoot photos of the two of them, posed and smiling happily with Nikolai’s arm around his girlfriend.

“Wow,” he said, finally. “This is amazing. I can even see my ship down there in the Dockyard. Show me where you live?”

Marina could easily point out the expanse of Southsea Common less than a mile away and the row of houses and apartments in the area, and she suggested that there was time to walk through that area and maybe find somewhere to have a meal together.

As they walked and talked, dusk was taking over on this autumnal evening and there was a full moon to watch, rising in a clear, darkening sky. In this more romantic atmosphere, they began to recall their on-line exchanges in which they had shared many personal thoughts and it seemed that the closeness they had felt in those impersonal contacts was being easily revived. Marina held Nikolai’s arm ever more closely as she guided him through the streets of Portsmouth and pointed out the block of flats where she lived. They strolled on and into a nearby row of shops where she suggested they try an Italian restaurant.

There, they found a corner table (and did not spot the man who entered soon after and dined alone on a large pizza as he read the evening newspaper). As they sipped their prosecco, Marina and Nikolai began to discuss when and how they might meet again; and then over linguini marinari and a bottle of white wine, they talked about their past lives and about a time in the future when Marina might be able to visit the home of her ancestors in Russia. And as they held hands across the table, Marina asked: “What time do you have to be back on board your ship?” and Nikolai said, softly and meaningfully “Well, I am not on duty again until nine tomorrow morning.”

Marina smiled and received the signal. “Let’s skip dessert,” she said softly. “And go back to my flat for coffee.”

Nikolai asked for the check and paid for dinner with cash, explaining to Marina that the ship’s officers had been paid in pounds sterling ahead of their arrival in Portsmouth to cover any personal expenses. And then, with their arms entwined, they strolled to the Southsea Terrace flats and Marina led the way into the lobby and then up to her first floor apartment – as quietly as possible without disturbing the neighbours.

Once inside, Nikolai took Marina in his arms and they kissed lovingly for the first time. After a minute or two, Marina came up for air and asked: “Coffee?” Nikolai replied briefly: “Later” – and he led her through the open door into what he had already spotted as the bedroom. There, they kissed repeatedly as they slowly undressed and sank eagerly on to the bed and spoke soft endearments to each other as they made love. While they kissed and caressed, each of them in their own way was also trying to assess the true depth of the feelings of the other until they were swept away in the intensity of the moment.

After a minute or two, a slightly breathless Nikolai moved away and murmured drowsily “dorogaya, dorogaya.” An elated Marina asked him: “That sounds nice; what does it mean?”

It means “my darling” he responded and then he appeared to be dozing peacefully. Marina looked at him and quietly said to herself: “Can this really be true? This is what I have been dreaming of for years – a man who is loving and gentle and considerate…. and a handsome Russian, too… I wonder what happens next?”

Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by a ring of her doorbell. “Oh, surely not my neighbour at this hour,” she said, pulling on a robe and walking into the sitting room, intending to look through the spyhole in the door. But before she could even get there, she heard the lock turning and in came two men in civilian clothes followed by a policewoman in uniform. As she reeled back, shocked by this sudden intrusion, the first man showed her his identity credentials as an agent with the Security Services and asked: “Is Nikolai Aldanov here?”

Alarmed and confused Marina spluttered an unintelligible answer as Nikolai appeared in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a duvet, and asked: “What’s going on?”

“Are you Nikolai Aldanov?” asked the agent.

“Who are you and why do you want to know?”

“My colleague and I are from the British Security Service and we have some questions for you to answer. It will be simplest if you get dressed quickly and come with us.”

“I am an officer in the Russian Navy,” replied Aldanov, trying hard to appear superior while in a state of undress and with his hair rumpled. “And I want to contact the captain of my ship in the Dockyard here before I do anything.”

“You can do that from the police station”, came the reply. “So let’s go there quietly before we all disturb the neighbours here.”

The second agent then led Aldanov back into the bedroom and watched him carefully while he dressed and as the two men led him out of the flat, he turned back to Marina and said: “Don’t worry, my dorogaya . I will sort all this out and contact you later.” They quietly took him down to a waiting car and drove off at speed. On the way, Nikolai was told abruptly to “shut up” when he asked, “Where are we going?” A few minutes later, the car arrived at the front door of the Portsmouth police station, and he was escorted into the building.

Meanwhile, the policewoman was still in the flat and carefully searching for anything left behind by the Russian. Marina interrupted and asked the her how they had managed to enter the front door and then her flat without making contact and was told: “These agents from London can do anything – even open locked doors. Now please get dressed. I am taking you to the police station because you also have some questions to answer.”

“Me? What about?” asked Marina. “I haven’t done anything wrong”.

“You had better get dressed quickly and bring your toiletries too because you might be with us until tomorrow,” said the policewoman, more sternly and looking at her watch. Then, dialling on her phone and waiting for a response, she said: “Are you still outside? OK, then we will be down in a few minutes.”

Another police car was waiting outside and a bewildered Marina was escorted out of the building and into the back seats for the drive to the Portsmouth police station. By then, neighbours were at their front windows, watching these developments in amazement.

As the two cars each arrived at the police station just five minutes away, Marina and Nikolai were taken to separate interview rooms in the CID department, where waiting police officers asked them to empty their pockets, took away the contents and wrote notes to record their actions. They also took Marina’s handbag, which contained, among other things, her mobile phone – ignoring her protest that she wanted to call her friend.

And the two lovers waited, separated, alone and confused – only hours after their first dockside meeting and their short, romantic evening together.

“The Ruskies are very upset about whatever happened at Portsmouth yesterday,” said Sir Oliver Anderson-Scott, a senior diplomat from the Foreign Office. “What’s going on?”

He had been summoned to an early-morning meeting, hurriedly convened for 8 am at the Home Office, with representatives from the Security Services MI5, together with officials from MI6, the Ministry of Defence and Scotland Yard… and the story unfolded.

“It may be nothing special,” began a calm and relaxed Thomas Spencer, a senior director from MI5. “This was just an opportunity to pick up a couple of suspected informants, and they are both being questioned in Portsmouth by our people. I should be able to tell you a lot more by tomorrow.”