Kaliningrad

It wasn’t much of a city.  Russians had killed much of the German population in 1945.  In 1947 they had shipped all survivors to Berlin.  All remnants of the German city of Konigsberg were destroyed, replaced by Soviet apartment blocks.  Lifeless Soviet rectangles in place, German Konigsberg became Russian Kaliningrad.  The constant fog did nothing to improve the looks of the place.

Catherine stayed seated – and handcuffed – long after the train settled in the station.  Cars emptied.  Soldiers boarded.  Replacements for the dead in Ukraine.  Catherine waited while the matrons talked on their phones.  Some contact made, some decision reached, she was taken to a waiting car, one matron on each side, each holding an arm.

There was no reason for Europeans to visit Kaliningrad.  The weather was bad, the architecture worse.  But in the hopes that a few might venture in, one old German hotel had been rebuilt.  Hotel Kaiserhof.  A bit of Bavarian styling, a relief from endless Soviet architecture surrounding it.  Catherine had stayed there once.  With a woman who planned to kill her.  Now she stood in the lobby, orange dress and handcuffs while one of the matrons filed paperwork.

Next stop?  A room on the second floor.  And Ilya.  Ilya pointed to a couch, ordered Catherine to sit, and signed a transfer document held by a matron.  They had lost nine women, a girl, and thirteen babies, but they had retained Catherine.  Ilya signed acceptance of the prisoner and closed the door behind the matrons.

She stood and looked down at Catherine.

“You have been a busy woman.”

She pulled up her skirt and straddled Catherine, her ass heavy on Catherine’s thighs, her chest pressed against Catherine, her fingers quickly finding the depths of Catherine’s hair.  She forced Catherine’s head back on to the top of the couch and brought her face down for a kiss.

“I like you in hand cuffs.  We will have to do this more often.”

“I often wondered if you were FSB.  You seemed to have some of that swagger.”

“A colonel.  You have no rank yet.  Maybe you will never be given one.  I think we all like you just as you are.”

She tightened her grip on Catherine’s hair.  Not painful.  Yet.  But the promise of pain was there.  She kissed Catherine again and moved her hips against her.

“You knew I was imprisoned for months?”

“Yes.  Interesting prison, isn’t it?  A history lesson, and an object lesson.  And you educate yourself as you sweep.”

“Is that where I go next?”

“No, my love.  You are indoctrinated just once.  If you do not understand what you saw there, you will be terminated.  Like both your husbands.”

She gripped Catherine’s hair with one hand, her other now gripping her throat.  No pain.  Just complete control.  She looked into Catherine’s eyes and waited for the obvious questions.

“I should see some sympathy, Ilya.  You know I loved both men.”

“Sorry.”

There was no sorrow in Ilya’s eyes.  She looked down at Catherine and waited.  Catherine blinked away tears.

“If you loved me, you would be sorry for my loss.”

“I do love you.  They were competitors.  Now I have you to myself.”

Silence lasted several minutes before Catherine could ask the question.

“Yuri first.  How?  Why?”

“He was leading an ammunition train to Kherson.  Ukrainian partisans ambushed the train.  He fought bravely as did his men.  You will read all about it when your next book comes out.”

“What?”

“He wrote books.  Now you write books.  A biography of Yuri, the Siberian hero, and a book for women – a guide to love and marriage.  We think you will be very popular.  Initial reviews are very good.”

“You…” Catherine hesitated.  “The journal I wrote while in Tomsk.”

“Yes.  Two unnamed authors did some heavy editing, but I think you will still see your style coming through.  You are quite the romantic.  Women will love you.”

“And Sergei?  Let’s finish this.  The handcuffs are painful, and you are heavy on my chest.”

“You can handle both.  And don’t lie.  I can feel your hips warm.  You like this position just as much as I do.”

“Sergei.  Finish it.”

“Roadside bomb in Syria.  It happens.  He is buried there with his troops.  I can send you a tape of the funeral if you wish.  Lots of uniforms and flags and several gun salutes.  His men loved him.”

“Why?  Now tell me why.  Both were safe – and effective – in Novosibirsk.  Both were sent into danger.  Why?”

“If you need to be told why, you should never have been selected for FSB.  Or maybe you spent too many nights sweeping that basement.  Career officers are being killed these days.  Lots of them.  Look it up for yourself.  The military is a dangerous career choice, especially for those who might have ambitions.”

“They might have ambitions for after the war.  Right now, they just want to win the war.”

“Now is the time to solve problems before they appear – after the war.”

“Get off me, Ilya.”

“No.”

Catherine struggled, briefly.  Ilya just tightened her grip and waited for Catherine to tire.

“You will tell me about the bus.  You will tell me about each woman in your group.  You will evaluate Tatiana’s performance.  You will report to me.  And when you are done, you will please me.”