Lion - Most Wanted

2

2 Comrade Piotr Lenko, as he was known among his friends, zipped three backpacks shut. There was a sense of finality in his movements. He stepped back, inspecting the backpacks arrayed on the bed. A casual glance would not discern there was money concealed amid the clothes in each. If it got to scrutiny, Lenko was done for.

I may be done for anyway , he thought ominously.

The walls of the cheap motel room he and his daughters were living — hiding — in seemed to close in on him. Claustrophobic. Like the prison he had unwittingly helped free an inmate from.

Lenko’s mind recalled images of the breached prison: smoke billowing from the panopticon, smaller fires where the gunship had crashed. Lenko had witnessed it from his helicopter.

He realised he was sweating profusely. He cursed the day he had accepted the bogus contract from Acacia Films.

An engineer by profession, Lenko worked for Ansat before striking out on his own. He had set up a tour business, unimaginatively named, Above Moscow. He controlled costs by maintaining his Ansat alone. It could not help him compete with other well-financed tour operators. His daughters, bless them, eagerly volunteered to put Above Moscow on the Internet. Yet, the business lost on marketing. Lenko was brooding the day he would be forced to sell his beloved Ansat and shutter his office when Acacia Films had called. They did not question his price, paid in cash. What, should he have said, no, to a new lease on life?

He had never understood the saying ‘it’s too good to be true’ until now.

Lenko regarded his money bags. He must get his family out of Russia before the noose tightened around his neck.

He glanced at the clock. It was near eight in the evening. Beneath the clock, a TV was running. Across from the TV, on the other bed, was his youngest daughter. Her arms were folded across her chest. She was looking at but not watching the TV. Her fingers twitched on her forearm.

Lenko expelled a tired sigh.

Lenko understood enough about mobile technology to suspect the authorities could trace phones’ locations. He had confiscated all their phones and tossed them. That had not gone well with his children especially since they urged him to report the matter to the police. All it had taken for Lenko to veto their suggestion was the money he had accepted from Acacia. And his fear of the system. He had heard stories of people going to the police in good faith and never being seen again. If he vanished who would care for his daughters?

“Pack your things; we’re leaving!” he had ordered.

A short silence followed. His daughters stared incredulously. And then the questions and protestations began. The next thirty minutes were frenetic. Emotions ran high. Lenko was talking and shoving necessities into three bags. His daughters followed, wrestling for the bags, unpacking them. Both were crying. He was asking them to give up the lives they knew, everything they had, leave behind their family and friends. Because he was unwilling to confess to the authorities. In the bargain, Lenko learned his eldest had a boyfriend. Another emotional anchor she was unwilling to sacrifice. To their minds, everything would be sorted out if he only approached the police. They were exasperated at his stubborn refusal.

Finally, his eldest had screamed, “You have nothing left here. Nothing. That is why it is easy for you to just go! You cannot admit you are a failure and so you prefer to run away from here! Mama always said you were good for nothing and a coward and now —”

She paused; aware she had crossed a line. A long, uncomfortable silence ensued. Lenko sat heavily on the bed, the springs creaked. He stared at his hands. His daughters remained standing, watching him.

“Papa,” his eldest said, haltingly, “I - I -”

Lenko shook his head, “It’s the truth, isn’t it, my dear?” He pursed his lips, blinked tears at the memory of his wife. “I loved her. We loved each other.”

She nodded. “Even though she said that,” his other daughter agreed with a small reconciliatory smile.

Lenko cupped his daughter’s cheek, looked her deep in the eye. “I will turn myself in.”

“No,” his youngest said.

“Both of you are right. I cannot run from this.” He looked at the clothes strewn about the small apartment. “I will go now.”

“No,” she repeated, “we must go!”

Father and the eldest regarded her with surprise. “What, why?”

But her gaze was fixated on the television. The news was muted but the pictures said a thousand words. A news helicopter was circling Prison Andozero.

How, Lenko thought, is this permitted? Russian news was invariably censured.

But the images were enough for his daughters to comprehend the retaliation that would be sought for a global embarrassment.

“Papa,” his eldest said, swallowing her fear, “we must go. Now!”

“Where is your sister?” Lenko demanded of his youngest.

No reply: she remained transfixed to the TV. He inched nearer; his shoe crunched upon a food wrapper. The hotel room smelled of food, the waste bin was overflowing. He touched his daughter’s shoulder, startling her.

“Where is your sister?” he repeated, struggling to control his anxiety.

“I told you earlier. She will be back.” The reply irritated him.

Lenko took a calming breath. The girls had agreed to go with him. It did not mean they were happy with it. Earlier, when he had stepped out of the bath — possibly his last in a long time — his eldest daughter was missing. “Nadia, where is she?”

“I do not know, papa.”

Lenko glanced at his watch. In fifteen minutes, they must leave. He had a way to smuggle them out of the country. With foreboding he realised his new-found wealth was paying to keep him and the girls from the authorities. They and the money were at risk until they reached western Europe. Portugal was calling.

Through gritted teeth he said, “We cannot wait for her.” And then he collected the backpacks, shouldering one. “We leave now.”

“What about Sasha?” she worried.

“We cannot wait,” he reiterated, keeping up the ploy. He would never leave Sasha behind but… he knew Nadia was aware of Sasha’s whereabouts. He made for the door. “Come, we do not have the luxury of keeping our own schedule. I warned both of you.” He twisted the door handle, pulled it open…

Nadia caved in. “She is at the cybercafé!”

Lenko spun. What?

“Since you took our phones…”

“I told you,” Lenko started in burgeoning rage. Then he reconsidered. What was done was done. He could only hope… “Come! Quick! We must go now!” His tone was urgent, and Nadia caught on. “They can find us if we use the Internet!” Hastened by his words, Nadia grabbed a bag from Lenko.

Outside, the narrow, carpeted corridor was silent. The walls seemed to press in on him. Like a prison . Lenko forced the imagery out of his mind. He jabbed at the elevator button. When it took too long to respond, he ushered Nadia to the stairs. The pair descended the stairwell. Lenko did not bother with the bill because he had pre-paid, in anticipation of a rapid exit.

They stepped out into the evening. He looked right. Motor traffic was light, pedestrians scarce. A homeless woman sat across the road, a group of teenagers were talking loudly and drinking by a line of shops on the opposite sidewalk. The cybercafé was advertised in a neon sign. “That one?”

Nadia confirmed this. Father and daughter crossed. The teenagers eyed them, their gazes lingering on Nadia a tad longer. She glanced over her shoulder; they had returned to their alcohol. The cybercafé’s windows were tinted so Lenko had no way of knowing if Sasha was inside. He pushed the door open and froze.

The establishment was empty. Well, almost. Sasha was at one of the computers. Sitting ramrod stiff. Her look told him she was sorry and terrified.

The man sitting beside her placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.

“Comrade Lenko,” he said in a voice that had the edge of glass. “Isn’t that what your friends call you?”

“I - I don’t know you.”

“Ah, but we will soon become friends. My name is Igor Sokolov.”