Heads You Win

“Immediately after you’ve served the main course,” he repeated. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Comrade Major.” Olga returned to the kitchen, and once the door was closed she told Elena what Polyakov had demanded. “I’d do anything I can to help,” she added, “but I daren’t cross the bastard.” Elena said nothing as she filled a plate with veal stew, turnips, and mashed potato. “You could always go home now,” said Olga. “I’ll tell him you weren’t feeling well.”

“I can’t,” said Elena, noticing that Olga was undoing the top two buttons of her blouse. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re a good friend, but I fear he wants to sample a new dish.” She handed the plate to Olga.

“I’d happily kill him,” said Olga, before returning to the dining room.

The major pushed his empty soup bowl to one side, as Olga placed the plate of hot stew in front of him.

“If you’re still on the premises by the time I’ve finished,” he said, “you’ll be back serving those scum in the works canteen on Monday.”

Olga picked up the soup bowl and returned to the kitchen, surprised by how calm her friend appeared to be, even though she couldn’t have been in any doubt what was about to happen. But then, Elena couldn’t tell her why she was willing to endure even Polyakov’s advances if it meant that she and her son would finally escape the KGB’s clutches.

“I’m so sorry,” said Olga, as she slipped on her coat, “but I can’t afford to lose my job. See you on Monday,” she added, before giving Elena a longer than usual hug.

“Let’s hope not,” whispered Elena as Olga closed the door behind her. She was just about to turn off the stove when she heard the dining room door open. She swung around to see Polyakov walking slowly toward her, still chewing a last mouthful of stew. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before unbuttoning a jacket covered in medals that hadn’t been won on a battlefield. He unbuckled his belt and placed it on the table beside his pistol, then kicked off his boots before starting to unzip his trousers, which fell to the floor. He stood there, no longer able to hide the rolls of surplus flesh that were usually hidden beneath a well-tailored uniform.

“There are two ways we can do this,” said the KGB chief as he continued walking toward her until their bodies were almost touching. “I’ll leave the choice to you.”

Elena forced a smile, wanting to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. She took off her apron and began to unbutton her blouse.

Polyakov smirked as he clumsily fondled her breasts. “You’re just like the rest of them,” he said, pushing her toward the table while trying to kiss her at the same time. Elena could smell his stinking breath, and turned her head so their lips didn’t touch. She felt his stubby fingers fumbling under her skirt, but this time she didn’t resist, just stared blankly over his shoulder as a sweaty hand moved up the inside of her thigh.

He shoved her up against the table, lifted her skirt, and thrust her legs apart. Elena closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She could feel him panting as he lurched forward, praying it would be over quickly.

The two o’clock siren sounded.

Elena looked up when she heard the door on the far side of the room open, and stared in horror as Alexander came charging toward them. Polyakov turned around, quickly pushed Elena to one side, and reached for his gun, but the young man was now only a yard away. Alexander lifted the pot from the stove, and hurled the remains of the hot stew in Polyakov’s face. The major staggered back and fell to the floor, delivering a stream of invective that Elena feared would be heard on the far side of the yard.

“You’ll hang for this!” Polyakov yelled as he grabbed the edge of the table and tried to pull himself up. But before he could utter another word, Alexander swung the heavy iron pot into his face. Polyakov collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Mother and son didn’t move as they stared at their fallen adversary.

Alexander was the first to recover. He picked up Polyakov’s tie from the floor and quickly bound his hands behind his back, then grabbed a napkin from the table and stuffed it in his mouth. Elena hadn’t moved. She just stared blankly ahead, as if paralyzed.

“Be ready to leave the moment I get back,” said Alexander, grabbing Polyakov by the ankles. He dragged him out of the kitchen and down the corridor, not stopping until he reached the lavatories, where he crammed the major into the end cubicle. It took all his strength to lift him onto the toilet, and then tie him to the pipe. He locked the door from the inside, and climbing up onto the major’s legs, pulled himself over the top and lowered himself to the floor. He ran back to the kitchen to find his mother on her knees, sobbing.