No one will care

This novel explores the general apathy amongst most Russian people for their fellow citizens. The problem is that eighty years of communism, which was effectively a totalitarianism reign of terror, left people not knowing who, if anyone to trust. While Russian people in general are not uncaring in their immediate circle of family and friends, it never goes beyond this. During the years of the great terror, they could not afford it to.

The main street of Novosibirsk in Winter, where it can go to -40C. The apartment blocks where evberyone lives can be seen in the background.

Chapter 1 - Dima

The attack, when it came, was as vicious as it was unexpected. Dmitry Olegivich kissed his wife goodbye as he always did and descended the four flights of stairs to the courtyard. At fifty five, he was still a fit man and never used lifts when he could avoid them. Even though his apartment was very comfortable, the public areas of the building were like every other Russian apartment block; filthy dirty floors, walls with cracked plaster, light bulbs not working and smelling of a mixture of stale food, cigarettes, cats and urine.

As he bounded around the last flight, a number of darkly clad masked men emerged from the gloom of the alcove in a blur. Blows rained down on Dmitry from all angles. They were delivered by boots and batons and were expertly aimed at the areas where they would do most damage. Taken completely by surprise and unable to defend himself, he tried to roll himself into a ball and to use his hands to protect his head, but he hadn’t a chance. Within seconds he was unconscious, completely exposed and streaming blood. Still more blows were delivered until the man lying in the stairwell was no more than a pummelled pile of flesh and bone.

Chapter 2 - Elena

The ancient Zhiguli wound its way through the dull, dark and dingy streets of Petrogradskaya, one of the islands that forms St Petersburg. Even though it was only three thirty in the afternoon, darkness had already begun to descend. The single working window wiper made a miserable attempt to clear the windscreen of the all pervasive slush and dirt and grime but it hadn’t a chance. This was the weather people hated most; a massive thaw. Still too cold for Spring but too warm for Winter. Most of the snow had melted but here and there great heaps of it still lay as a sort of grey sludge. All the dirt and dust deposited during the Winter by the city’s six million cars was now being thrown back at them in a sort of crazy dance. The weather was overcast so there was no chance to experience what should have been the last remaining vestiges of daylight. A blanket of wetness cloaked the city and it had just begun to rain, a cold damp drizzle that had made her shiver involuntarily. It was the kind of weather that depressed her to her very soul. But worst of all was what the thaw revealed; the detritus of the previous six months that had been dumped in what had then been pristine snow. Every park, every grass verge, each public area which had not been swept of snow now featured a disgusting display of bottles and cans and cigarette butts and plastic bags and used condoms and condom wrappers and general refuse but worst of all, mountains of dog shit from the army of three million animals which the five million citizens of this city kept as pets. She cursed inwardly again as she caught the faint whiff from her expensive Christian Louboutins, from where she had stepped in some of the crap earlier. 

Even at this time of day, the traffic was an appalling gridlock and she knew she would be late. But there was nothing to do except sit through it and hope. She removed her shoe again and tried to wipe it clean but a trace of the pong remained. Fuck it, he might be too hurried to notice anyway. She pondered her lot in life. She was one of the sixty three per cent which comprised the female population. She had many natural advantages which, like most Russian women, she used as best she could. When foreigners criticized Russian girls, they rarely gave a thought to the fact that up to half of them could never be sure of being loved or even shagged on a regular basis so they had to play a different game. It wasn’t just oil and gas that were the tradable commodities; sex was right there alongside them. From the first time when she became aware of the opposite sex, Elena knew she was in a never ending game. The lucky ones who won were those that met either a wealthy Russian or a kindly or gullible foreigner and lived happily ever after. For the majority, the game never ended. Most married young to try to gain an advantage or a degree of respectability but three quarters of them were divorced before they had had the opportunity to consolidate it. Some, if they were very lucky, married again but the majority was consigned to a continuous and unequal contest where they could be lovers or mistresses or else just do without.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the taxi finally pulled up outside her apartment block. She paid the driver quickly and dashed inside past the sleeping and disinterested concierge in the lobby, anxiously pressing the call button for the lift. Her current lover was a kind enough man and he had his own key so he would be waiting. She fumbled with her keys and unlocked the steel outer door and then the inner entrance. Both were fully locked which was strange. She slipped off her shoes in the hallway in the Russian fashion and called to her lover, who should be relaxing at this stage with a cognac. There was no reply. Strange, she thought, Dima had never been late.      

  Chapter 3 – Nikolai

He was thoroughly pissed off and depressed at the thought of attending yet another reception. Tonight’s was at the British Embassy and while the chaps would be ever so polite and complimentary about Russia’s ‘planned reforms’ and ‘economic achievements’, Nikolai knew they were just being polite. Who did they think they were fooling? He was a diplomat too for fuck’s sake; a master at the art of saying one thing and meaning precisely the opposite, while smiling through the entire charade.

Although he was in his own country, he often longed for another overseas posting. At least there he could often relax, meet some of his counterparts, get totally arseholes drunk and tell each other the real story. But not here; the act had to be maintained. Despite her myriad faults, he loved his country but he would have often found it difficult had he had to defend her. At least he felt he understood Russia, which was more than he could say for the people he would have to sup and bite with this evening. Oh they would say they loved the country and that this was their favourite posting but deep down, he knew they were counting days. They had no care for his beloved Russia, his beautiful, unloved, misunderstood and abused homeland. He often imagined Russia was treated like the world’s mistress; needed for her oil and gas like a mistress was needed for a discreet fuck but never loved or nurtured or even stayed with for very long. And, he reflected, like most mistresses, it was her own fault, too stubborn to change, outwardly confident yes, even brash and belligerent but when put to the test, acquiescent and obedient to its master; in Russia’s case, its more influential neighbours or their allies. Like a mistress was often frowned on in society, likewise Russia was often criticized and even ridiculed for the position it took but it only served to make it no less proud and ever more resilient, not caring a jot for what people said or thought. But it was all just a front because Nikolai knew in his heart that apart from oil and gas and a few other natural resources, Russia had nothing to bargain with. Eighty years of crushing totalitarianism, even he wouldn’t dare call it communism, had so destroyed any innovative potential that it would be generations before Russia produced anything again that the world would want to purchase.

He sighed as he sat into the Mercedes; even the Government and the diplomatic corps had long given up the pretence that the country could manufacture their own cars. He glanced at his watch; it was ten to seven. With a little luck he could be out of there by eight thirty, he could call to Elena on the way back and if traffic improved, still be home by eleven without any suspicions being raised. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so depressing after all. He instructed his driver to purchase a bottle of decent champagne while he attended the reception and he sent Elena a quick text.   

 Chapter 4 - Sergey

Sergey came awake slowly. His head felt like it was about to explode. He hadn’t had a headache like this since, well since he couldn’t even remember. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and he craved a drink of water. His face seemed to be rubbing off something soft but dirty. He risked opening his eyes. He appeared to be lying in the back end of a jeep and he was handcuffed. His captors hadn’t bothered with a gag as he had been comatose from the earlier blow on the head. As his senses returned, he caught a whiff of leather, the smell of cigarettes and a faint tinge of some expensive cologne that he couldn’t name. This was no Moskvitch or Volga; this was a luxury vehicle, the real deal. He shivered involuntarily as the implications of who might have abducted him struck home. With difficulty, he manoeuvred himself a fraction and peeped over the rear seat. There were three large men in the jeep, all wearing dark suits and all affecting wraparound sunglasses. None of them were speaking. His earlier suspicions were confirmed - the jeep was huge. None of the three men seemed to notice his movement. The one in the rear seat was smoking and he had cracked the smoked glass window a fraction. The vehicle seemed to be travelling fast on a smooth road but Sergey had no idea where they were. He glanced momentarily at the rear door but it was pointless. There was no internal door handle and even if there was, what was he going to do? Roll out of a vehicle moving at over one hundred kilometres an hour and smash himself to pieces on the road? A fleeting thought entered his head that it might be preferable to what he may have to endure later but he dismissed it as he shivered again.

He rolled back to his original position and tried to make himself comfortable. His movement seemed to be detected this time. The bear in the rear seat reached over and stuck a large Makarov pistol between his eyes and said:

“You move again and I blow your fucking head off here and now; your choice.” Sergey was still. The man had been huge but jowly and probably unfit. He had a completely shaven head, dark bloodshot eyes and foul smelling breath, which stank of cigarettes and vodka. His teeth had been misshapen and coloured brown from overuse of tobacco. Unfit or not, Sergey wasn’t going to make any impression on him, even if they untied him.

From where he lay, his only line of sight gave him a small view out of the left hand corner of the windscreen but it was effectively useless. He could see lampposts and telegraph poles and the odd tree; they could be anywhere. The vehicle suddenly slowed and turned off the main highway. Sergey could now detect the tops of large buildings, all apparently in poor condition. They seemed to be made universally from metal with the sheeting missing in many places and rusted elsewhere. The road surface grew rougher and even though the luxury jeep had a decent suspension, he was thrown around and suffered several bumps to his head. They didn’t help his earlier concussion but at least he was conscious. The jeep slowed to a crawl and the terrain became even rougher. The driver seemed to be trying to manoeuvre between enormous potholes but inevitably had to enter some of them. From Sergey’s cramped position, he detected the top of a large steel gate or door which was lying half opened. The driver turned right through the opening and the vehicle drew up beside what appeared to be an enormous warehouse. There was a clunking sound as the central locking mechanism was released and then he heard the sound of the jeep’s doors being opened and closed. His heartbeat increased and while before he had merely been scared, now he was terrified. For a few moments, he was all alone in the jeep but his options for escape were nil. He heard the sound of a deadbolt being pulled back slowly, with much screeching of metal against metal. Then further creaking as rusty hinges protested against the men’s attempts to open the door of the warehouse.

Suddenly, the tailgate of the jeep was raised and Sergey had to squeeze his eyes shut as the bright sunlight hit him. An enormous hand reached in and grabbed him by the arm and the back of the neck. It was the bear from the rear seat. He was forced to stand although his legs felt like jelly after their confinement. The bear then frog marched him into an enormous building which appeared to be empty. The rust laden door again creaked in protest as it was slammed shut and a dead bolt was locked in place. From what Sergey had seen, the entire area seemed to be unoccupied, perhaps abandoned. The sight was a common enough one. Old Soviet centralized industry had created massive factories and warehouse distribution areas but all were long since abandoned. From the brief glance he had gotten, the area they were in appeared to occupy several hectares. This was not good; there would be no chance that anyone would hear him out here, much less come to his aid.

After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the murky interior of the building. The three men had moved a little distance away and appeared to be discussing what to do with their captive. He scanned the warehouse. The only light seemed to emanate from holes in the roof where the galvanized steel sheets had rusted away. It threw shafts of sunlight in crazy patterns on the floor of the building and gave the area a somewhat distorted look. After a full sweep of the place, he could see no other exit so making a run for it wasn’t an option. The only way out was through the roof and that was twenty metres high. All he could detect on the floor was a few old pallets and broken packing cases, lots of dust and dirt and what appeared to be rodent droppings. There were a few old battered chairs in one corner but no other furniture. But none of these things concerned him. What rooted him to the floor and almost froze the blood in his veins was the sight in the centre of the building. A sturdy steel rail had been suspended from the ceiling at a height of about three metres and it contained several meat hooks. Underneath the rail there were several dark patches which might have been blood. Of course the warehouse could have been used for meat distribution but somehow Sergey didn’t think so. There was only one rail and it was the only thing in the place which wasn’t covered in rust.

The men finished their conversation and one of them took a seat in one of the old chairs. The other two approached him menacingly and Sergey felt his innards turn to jelly and a trickle of urine escaped involuntarily, running down his leg and darkening his trousers. The first man seemed to pick up the whiff and half smiled, half grimaced.  He was slimmer than the bear but still built like a brick shithouse. The third man was somewhat smaller but was still almost two metres in height and at least and hundred and twenty kilos. Sergey didn’t want to estimate what the other two weighed. There had still been no communication. Sergey tried, tentatively:

“Look, I don’t know why you’ve brought me here. I don’t know anything.”

The man in the old armchair laughed:

“Good, then we will be finished soon and I can go and get some lunch”.

The bear shook his head and said:

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Note that he didn’t ask why he was brought here or if he was kidnapped or if he was being held for ransom. All he said was that he knew nothing. Interesting, eh? It means he must know something. Ah well, we will soon know although I’m not sure it will be in time for lunch”.        

The man then moved swiftly and grabbed hold of Sergey, lifting him bodily, while the bear brought one of the rickety chairs towards the centre of the warehouse.

“I can see you’ve already pissed your pants”, said the first man, “but not to worry, you won’t be needing them for much longer”.

He chuckled as he undid Sergey’s belt, then ripped off his trousers and boxers in one movement and tossed them to one side. He lifted him effortlessly on to the chair while the bear pulled down one of the meat hooks and slid it towards them. Sergey was now exposed from the waist down and totally terrified. He could not contain himself and this time his bladder really let go and a thick stream of urine splashed the chair and his captor’s pants.

“Ah, you dirty little fucker,” the man swore. “By Jesus, you’ll be shooting from both ends in a minute, you filthy little prick. Volodya, stick that hook up his arse and he’ll soon tell us whether he knows anything or not.”

The bear struggled to lower the hook and Sergey screamed.

“Stop, please, stop, take me down please. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I’ll tell you everything, everything. Just please take me down.”  

Chapter 5

He looked through the smoked glass at the bleak cold rain and shivered involuntarily. Jesus, it was cold. At home it could be minus twenty but manageable. Here it was plus four but the bloody wind chilled you to the marrow.

He knew he was taking a chance coming here as he scanned the churchyard, practically deserted save for a poor brave souls who battled the chill to attend early morning mass. There were fewer than last time. Perhaps some were more dedicated or making up for a misspent life, trying to accrue some late brownie points with the Almighty.

He put down his sandwich, stale bread and meat of uncertain origin; Christ the Scots were a miserable race. He had read somewhere about some scandal involving horse meat. He chuckled to himself; there was nothing wrong with horsemeat. He’d prefer it to this crap.

He eventually steeled himself and cracked open the door. The car temperature gauge now said plus two but after a couple of minutes, he felt like he was suffering from exposure. He was just about to give up and curse his bad luck once again when something chilled him more than Russian and Scottish weather combined could. A hand touched his shoulder lightly. It wasn’t the touch or the fact that it had seemingly appeared from nowhere and caught him unawares.

No, the real chill factor was in the accompanying voice, soft as silk but containing the strength to melt burnished steel. That unmistakable cadence that stirred dark thoughts from his memory banks and struck terror into his soul. A voice from long ago but indelibly etched into his memory forever. And all the man had said was simply: “Good morning Tavarich”.

Despite the Arctic weather, he was sweating as he turned slowly to face his accuser.

Suddenly, the tailgate of the jeep was raised and Misha had to squeeze his eyes shut as the bright sunlight hit him. An enormous hand reached in and grabbed him by the arm and the back of the neck. It was the bear from the rear seat. He was forced to stand although his legs felt like jelly after their confinement. The bear then frog marched him into an enormous building which appeared to be empty. The rust laden door again creaked in protest as it was slammed shut and a dead bolt was locked in place. From what Mishahad seen, the entire area seemed to be unoccupied, perhaps abandoned. The sight was a common enough one at home. Old Soviet centralized industry had created massive factories and warehouse distribution areas but all were long since abandoned. From the brief glance he had gotten, the area they were in appeared to occupy several hectares. This was not good; there would be no chance that anyone would hear him out here, much less come to his aid.

After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the murky interior of the building. The three men had moved a little distance away and appeared to be discussing what to do with their captive. He scanned the warehouse. The only light seemed to emanate from holes in the roof where the galvanized steel sheets had rusted away. It threw shafts of sunlight in crazy patterns on the floor of the building and gave the area a somewhat distorted look. After a full sweep of the place, he could see no other exit so making a run for it wasn’t an option. The only way out was through the roof and that was twenty metres high. All he could detect on the floor was a few old pallets and broken packing cases, lots of dust and dirt and what appeared to be rodent droppings. There were a few old battered chairs in one corner but no other furniture. But none of these things concerned him. What rooted him to the floor and almost froze the blood in his veins was the sight in the centre of the building. A sturdy steel rail had been suspended from the ceiling at a height of about three metres and it contained several meat hooks. Underneath the rail there were several dark patches which might have been blood. Of course the warehouse could have been used for meat distribution but somehow Sergey didn’t think so. There was only one rail and it was the only thing in the place which wasn’t covered in rust.

The men finished their conversation and one of them took a seat in one of the old chairs. The other two approached him menacingly and Misha felt his innards turn to jelly and a trickle of urine escaped involuntarily, running down his leg and darkening his trousers. The first man seemed to pick up the whiff and half smiled, half grimaced. He was slimmer than the bear but still built like a brick shithouse. The third man was somewhat smaller but was still almost two metres in height and at least and hundred and twenty kilos. Sergey didn’t want to estimate what the other two weighed. There had still been no communication. Misha tried, tentatively:

“Look, I don’t know why you’ve brought me here. I don’t know anything.”

The man in the old armchair laughed:

“Good, then we will be finished soon and I can go and get some lunch”.

The bear shook his head and said:

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Note that he didn’t ask why he was brought here or if he was kidnapped or if he was being held for ransom. All he said was that he knew nothing. Interesting, eh? It means he must know something. Ah well, we will soon know although I’m not sure it will be in time for lunch”.

The man then moved swiftly and grabbed hold of Misha, lifting him bodily, while the bear brought one of the rickety chairs towards the centre of the warehouse.

“I can see you’ve already pissed your pants”, said the first man, “but not to worry, you won’t be needing them for much longer”.