LD02 - The Secret Speech by Tom Rob Smith

Author:Tom Rob Smith [Smith, Tom Rob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446552080
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-05-18T14:00:00+00:00

KOLYMA

THIRTY KILOMETERS NORTH OF

THE PORT OF MAGADAN

SEVENTEEN KILOMETERS

SOUTH OF GULAG 57

10 APRIL

THE CLOUD LEVEL HAD SUNK a thousand meters, obliterating the view. Silver-gilded droplets hung in the air—a mist part ice, part water, part magic—out of which the drab highway appeared meter by meter, a gray, lumpish carpet unraveling in front of them. The truck was making slow progress. Frustrated with the additional delay, Timur checked his watch, forgetting that it was broken, smashed in the storm. It clung uselessly to his wrist, the glass cracked, the mechanism jammed with salt water. He wondered how badly it had been damaged. His father had claimed it to be a family heirloom. Timur suspected this was a lie and the way in which his father, a proud man, had disguised giving his son a battered secondhand watch for his eighteenth birthday. It was because of the lie, rather than despite it, that the watch had become Timur’s most treasured possession. When his eldest son turned eighteen he intended to hand it down to him, although he’d not yet decided whether to explain the sentimental importance of the lie or merely perpetuate the mythology of its origins.

Despite the delay, Timur took great comfort from the fact that at least he’d avoided being sent back across the Sea of Okhotsk on the return voyage to Buchta Nakhodka. Yesterday evening he’d been on board the Stary Bolshevik, the ship had been ready to depart: repairs had been made to the hold, the water pumped out, and the newly released prisoners loaded in, their faces knotted in contemplation of freedom. Unable to see a way out of his predicament, Timur had stood on deck, paralyzed, watching as the harbor crew unfastened the ropes. In another couple of minutes the ship would’ve been at sea and he would’ve had no prospect of reaching Gulag 57 for another month.

In desperation, Timur had walked into the captain’s bridge, hoping sheer force of circumstance would compel him to come up with a plausible excuse. As the captain had turned to him he’d blurted out:

—There is something I have to tell you.

An inept liar, he’d remembered it was always easier to tell a version of the truth.

—I’m not actually a guard. I work for the MVD. I’ve been sent here to review the changes being implemented into the system following Khrushchev’s speech. I’ve seen enough of the way in which this ship is managed.

At the mere mention of the speech, the captain had paled:

—Have I done wrong?

—I’m afraid the contents of my report are secret.

—But the journey here, the things that happened, that wasn’t my fault. Please, if you file a report describing how I lost control of the ship.

Timur had marveled at the power of his excuse. The captain had moved closer, his voice imploring:

—None of us could’ve foreseen the partition wall would smash. Don’t let me lose my job. I can’t find another. Who would work with me? Knowing what I’d done for a living? Running a prison ship? I would be hated.

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