slicing away the rinds, then chopping the beets into cubes. The dark juice ran onto the metal floor.
The commandos had been on the ship for five days. Things had entered a routine. The sailors were grouped four to a room, and mostly were forced to stay in, with the doors locked from the outside. Dmitri and Ilya were allowed to work in the galley. A commando loitered at the top of the steps, smoking. At first, Ilya, irrepressible, had tried to chat with Dmitri, but the guard had stomped down the stairs and shouted at them and banged Ilya on the head with the magazine of his gun. So they worked in silence. But today, as they were peeling the beets, another commando called to their guard, and he walked off. Ilya sidled next to Dmitri and murmured to him. He was in a room with the captain and Ludo, he said. He told Dmitri that the captain helped manage the boat, always under supervision. The captain had been forced to send a message to the owners that the ship had been hijacked. Then they had switched off the AIS. One of the commandos, according to the captain, was a superb seaman. They were zigzagging all over, so that even the captain had no idea where they were. The commandos used their own communication system, which they had brought with them – some sort of battery-run telephone. They spoke in a code that the captain did not think was Russian-based. Something was strange: eleven commandos had boarded the ship, but after the first day he’d only seen five. Dmitri thought about that.
“But there are eleven extra people on board,” he said. “I wash the dishes. I know.”
“But where are they?” Ilya said. “And another thing: Alexey and his short friend – did you know they have a room to themselves?”
“So are they with the hijackers?”
“They eat with us.”
“I don’t understand. Do you know where they’re taking us?”
“Well, the captain thinks it’s a hostage situation. They told the ship owners they want a ransom. He heard them.”
“Like Somalia.”
“Coming to the Baltic now. People are desperate, I guess.”
Dmitri looked down at his stained hands and shook his head. He thought about Ludo and his nose for funny business. Something was up, and Dmitri didn’t think that the hostage thing explained it away. The captain had known from the beginning, he was sure. And the gray brothers hadn’t seemed like hijackers. They were too solid, too professional, to risk their lives on a mission like this. He felt like a boy trying to fit a puzzle piece into the wrong slot. It almost fit, and he kept pressing, trying to force it, even though he knew it was just slightly off.
Chapter 5
Yuri
April 26
Rygg walked along Wendenstrasse, over the canal. He stopped, one hand on the railing, and looked down at the wavering reflections of the buildings in the dark green water. Leaning across the railing, he saw his shadowy reflection: suit, tie, briefcase – his daily uniform, which was now a disguise.
Walking again, he let the briefcase swing and forced his breaths into a rhythm. He knew he just had to act normal, but whatever he did it felt strange now that he was acting out his life.
He had checked into the Crillon-Hapsburg the afternoon before, and the impassive receptionist had murmured politely that he was pleased to give him the same room he’d had two weeks before. But it was not the same room, somehow. The view from the balcony was a set for the play he was in. He laid out his things – comb, razor, toothpaste – nudging them into forty-five degree angles, this way, that way. What would I do now? He walked to the Chilehaus bar, had a couple beers, chatted with the bartender. The beer helped, dulling his nerves. And a couple aquavits at the hotel bar made him feel like home. Allowed him to sleep.
But now he was following the script. The map was before his eyes. He turned right along Hammerbrookstrasse. Then left onto Albertstrasse. Then right again. He stopped at intervals, to tie his
The commandos had been on the ship for five days. Things had entered a routine. The sailors were grouped four to a room, and mostly were forced to stay in, with the doors locked from the outside. Dmitri and Ilya were allowed to work in the galley. A commando loitered at the top of the steps, smoking. At first, Ilya, irrepressible, had tried to chat with Dmitri, but the guard had stomped down the stairs and shouted at them and banged Ilya on the head with the magazine of his gun. So they worked in silence. But today, as they were peeling the beets, another commando called to their guard, and he walked off. Ilya sidled next to Dmitri and murmured to him. He was in a room with the captain and Ludo, he said. He told Dmitri that the captain helped manage the boat, always under supervision. The captain had been forced to send a message to the owners that the ship had been hijacked. Then they had switched off the AIS. One of the commandos, according to the captain, was a superb seaman. They were zigzagging all over, so that even the captain had no idea where they were. The commandos used their own communication system, which they had brought with them – some sort of battery-run telephone. They spoke in a code that the captain did not think was Russian-based. Something was strange: eleven commandos had boarded the ship, but after the first day he’d only seen five. Dmitri thought about that.
“But there are eleven extra people on board,” he said. “I wash the dishes. I know.”
“But where are they?” Ilya said. “And another thing: Alexey and his short friend – did you know they have a room to themselves?”
“So are they with the hijackers?”
“They eat with us.”
“I don’t understand. Do you know where they’re taking us?”
“Well, the captain thinks it’s a hostage situation. They told the ship owners they want a ransom. He heard them.”
“Like Somalia.”
“Coming to the Baltic now. People are desperate, I guess.”
Dmitri looked down at his stained hands and shook his head. He thought about Ludo and his nose for funny business. Something was up, and Dmitri didn’t think that the hostage thing explained it away. The captain had known from the beginning, he was sure. And the gray brothers hadn’t seemed like hijackers. They were too solid, too professional, to risk their lives on a mission like this. He felt like a boy trying to fit a puzzle piece into the wrong slot. It almost fit, and he kept pressing, trying to force it, even though he knew it was just slightly off.
Chapter 5
Yuri
April 26
Rygg walked along Wendenstrasse, over the canal. He stopped, one hand on the railing, and looked down at the wavering reflections of the buildings in the dark green water. Leaning across the railing, he saw his shadowy reflection: suit, tie, briefcase – his daily uniform, which was now a disguise.
Walking again, he let the briefcase swing and forced his breaths into a rhythm. He knew he just had to act normal, but whatever he did it felt strange now that he was acting out his life.
He had checked into the Crillon-Hapsburg the afternoon before, and the impassive receptionist had murmured politely that he was pleased to give him the same room he’d had two weeks before. But it was not the same room, somehow. The view from the balcony was a set for the play he was in. He laid out his things – comb, razor, toothpaste – nudging them into forty-five degree angles, this way, that way. What would I do now? He walked to the Chilehaus bar, had a couple beers, chatted with the bartender. The beer helped, dulling his nerves. And a couple aquavits at the hotel bar made him feel like home. Allowed him to sleep.
But now he was following the script. The map was before his eyes. He turned right along Hammerbrookstrasse. Then left onto Albertstrasse. Then right again. He stopped at intervals, to tie his
Similar Books
