Garry Abson: Motherland: A Gripping Crime Thriller Set in the Dark Heart of Putin's Russia

‘Wait.’ He released his hand from Vova’s grip, repeatedly stretching his fingers and forming a fist as if they were cramping. ‘I’ll come with you.’

She felt a momentary panic. ‘No, stay, it’s freezing outside.’

He looked alarmed. ‘What about…?’

‘Ksenia? Don’t worry, she won’t wake up.’ The thought of a bull like Sasha terrified at the prospect of looking after a two-year-old girl made her smile.

She pulled on her winter fur, patting its pockets in a rehearsed move. ‘Where’s my damned purse?’

Instead of going to her bedroom, she went to the nursery and peered through a gap in the blinds at the Zhiguli parked across the street. She had noticed it five days ago, already submerged under a quilt of overnight snow. Now, slush was piled around the pavement where he’d cleared it away, and she could see the car was beige beneath the yellow of the sodium lamp. It was an old model too, with sharp angles. A vehicle that only a child or Soviet engineer might like to draw. There was no movement on the driver’s side, no shadows or shapes that told her he was inside; it was too risky to sit and wait for her this close to the apartment.

She scanned the street. A group of revellers, three couples, were starting early on their New Year’s celebrations, the women wearing furs and the men in smart three-quarter-length coats with Ushanka hats. He’d be out there too; a muffled figure hiding from the freezing wind. There was a left turn a few metres from the car where he might be keeping out of sight. That narrow road led to the Griboyedov Canal where she’d often stared at a small pool of pure black water that was always the last to resist the ice. Before she became pregnant, and when she realised the kind of man Yuri was, she’d been tempted to do more than stare at it.

She stuffed a pair of Ksenia’s thick tights in the bottom of her nylon shopping bag, then added two thin blankets, Felix – Ksenia’s favourite bear, and some disposable nappies. It made her feel sick to think of what what she was leaving behind: especially the lace coverlets her grandmother had crocheted as a wedding present.

Ksenia murmured as she pulled a sheepskin hat onto her head before wrapping her tightly in a blanket. Yuri wouldn’t harm his own daughter, but she wasn’t his own flesh, blood and nerves. If Sasha and Vova caught her, well, Yuri was never going to be labelled a cuckold. No doubt they had orders and Sasha would get to use that gun of his. She felt momentary guilt at their fate. If she succeeded they would be sensible to escape too, but she had met boys like Sasha and Vova before, they believed in loyalty the way Baltic sailors drowned – by clinging to the wreckage of their boats when swimming for shore could have saved them.

The handles of the nylon bag cut into her hand as she bent down to pick up Ksenia. Cradling her, she walked softly along the corridor.

‘Mama?’ Ksenia’s eyes blinked open.

‘Shh,’ she whispered. ‘We’re going to a magic castle but only if you are very quiet.’

Ksenia nodded solemnly, half in a dream, her eyes flickering as they closed.

There was a triumphant shout from the living room then a pause. ‘Don’t forget the smokes,’ Sasha called, his voice loud with vodka and victory.

She shuffled down two flights of stairs then opened the block’s metal apartment door. Instantly, her cheeks burned with the cold and the freezing air made her gasp. She locked the door behind her, nearly stumbling under the weight. The scratching noise of her footsteps on the gritted pavement echoed as she staggered along the street. Ksenia burrowed her head into the fur lapels of the coat.

She stopped for a minute outside a closed magazine kiosk to catch her breath; her arm muscles burned with the effort of holding Ksenia and the shopping bag. Without a scarf, her nose and ears were already stinging; the next stage was numbness, then frostbite. She doubled back towards her apartment. At the familiar hulk of the Zhiguli she squatted, lowering Ksenia.

‘Can you stand up for Mama?’

The child nodded slowly and got to her feet.

Kristina took out the blankets from the shopping bag and wrapped them around Ksenia.

‘Don’t move, darling.’

‘Magic?’

‘Yes, we’re going to the castle now.’

A pair of black leather boots stopped on the path. She couldn’t bear to look up.

‘Are you all right?’

The voice was slurred and she didn’t recognise it. She bobbed her head quickly without making eye contact. ‘I’m fine.’

She willed the stranger to go away, her body statue still. It took forever until his footsteps started crunching on the ice and grit. The cold was biting now, sending a thousand icy jabs into the exposed skin on her face. Ksenia’s cheeks each bore a perfect red circle and she pulled the edge of the knitted blanket around her until there was only a slit for the eyes.

‘Stay there. Be a good girl for Mama.’

‘I go bed.’

‘Soon, darling.’

She ran a gloved hand along the underside of the Zhiguli’s front wheel arch, finding the magnetic box where he’d told her it would be. She braced herself, hugging the top of the tyre with her arm, then gripped the box and yanked it. Her hand slipped off – the damned thing was welded to the metal by ice. She tried again. When that failed, she curled her hand into a fist and jabbed at the little box. Through the wool of her glove, a sharp corner scraped her knuckles, making her eyes water. Needles stabbed as the tears turned to ice. She formed a fist and hit the box again, blinking to stop fresh tears forming, then cradled her hand to mask the fresh pain. She gritted her teeth to suppress a scream, noticing the box had fallen soundlessly onto the snow.

The glove on her right hand was stiff with blood. She peeled it off to pick up the box, her fingers tacky on the freezing metal. She pushed the top edge. It slid open easily, revealing a single, silver key.

When she tried it in the passenger door, barely the tip of the key fitted inside the lock before it stuck.

‘Lord Jesus Christ.’ She strode to the driver’s side in clear view of her apartment.

She resumed the incantation: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.’ The prayer did little to calm her mind: all she could think of was Sasha and Vova, and one of them looking outside to see why she was taking so long.

‘Mama go home!’ Ksenia called from the pavement.

‘Shh! Remember the magic castle.’

Ksenia wailed, ‘Nooooo – I go home!’

Kristina fought the temptation to comfort her. The cries grew louder. The key slipped into the lock on the driver’s door but it too was frozen. She stole a glance at her apartment on the second floor – the blinds were in shadow and it was impossible to know if they were looking out. She jabbed the key with her palm to try and force it in.

‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God—’

Ksenia began screaming.

There were hurried footsteps.

A gloved hand pulled the key from her. ‘Let me do it.’ His breath billowed out like factory smoke.

She looked up. ‘Where the fuck were you?’ she demanded.

‘I needed a piss.’

She smelled alcohol on his breath. ‘Is this all a game to you?’

‘I was freezing.’

His cheeks were the colour and consistency of cold clay. She nodded to herself. ‘Hurry, the lock’s frozen.’

He pulled the key out and held a lighter to it. She darted around the Zhiguli’s bonnet and picked up Ksenia. ‘Shh, we’re going to the castle now. There are horses and elephants.’