Natalya Page 3

  “My family and I are keeping low, but for my wife’s sake, I must head home. She gets worried if I’m out too long.” The distant sound of aircraft muffled Rudolf’s low-spoken words. Mikhail covered his eyes with one hand and glanced toward the northwest but was unable to tell if they were German Luftwaffe or Swiss planes. Not that it mattered...no planes were supposed to be flying over Switzerland.

  “It’s time for me to leave as well. Traveling, even in Switzerland, isn’t safe anymore.” Mikhail placed a few Swiss notes underneath the empty plate and motioned for Rudolf to lead the way. Both men waited until they were at a safe distance from the cafe before speaking.

  “I’m glad you remembered that if I begin our conversation by asking about Olga, it means we are being watched,” Mikhail said, shortening his pace so his friend could keep up with his long strides.

  “Of course. That joke is an old one, but handy. I take it you were talking about the three men who kept staring at their empty plates? I didn’t see anyone else nearby but nowadays, they could have been looking at us through sniper rifles.”

  “They were so obvious. The Germans must be getting desperate to send such untried spies. Now, I take it the crystal contains information of some kind?”

  “It does, but I won’t tell you any more than this—get it copied immediately and deliver it personally to your highest Russian general. It is of the utmost importance, Mikhail. Promise me you will be vigilant.”

  “Aren’t I always, Rudolf? What about the music you mentioned?”

  “All I know is that it has something to do with diamonds and Hitler’s Fourth Reich…oh, and werewolves.”

  Mikhail stopped, stared at his friend who walked a few more steps then glanced back at him, his dark brows raised above his round glasses. “Mikhail? We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just say werewolves?”

  Rudolf adjusted his glasses. “Yes, although I assume it’s just a code name for a new weapon Hitler’s come up with. He is known as The Wolf, you know.”

  Mikhail frowned and moved forward again. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and the air around him turned heavy. Letting the familiar sensation wash over him, a hazy scene superimposed itself over reality. He still saw Rudolph standing a few steps away, staring at him with a concerned gaze as Mikhail stared back. The vision suddenly took on a life of its own, morphing and changing into something new. He saw the three men spying on them at the café walk up behind him. From the way the lead man flailed his arms in wide arcs around him and the angry expression on his face as he glared at them, Mikhail realized he and Rudolf were being questioned.

  The vision glitched, and the scene turned staticky and stuttered a few times. Suddenly, it cleared and he saw the men coming up behind, as if to surround them. The vision showed the lead man pulling a pistol from his coat pocket and slamming it against Rudolf’s temple. Mikhail stepped between them and felt a searing blow to the back of his head, surprising him. He’d never felt his visions before. Concentrating on the events unfolding through his Sight, he grimaced as his arms were wrenched behind him, and he was forced to kneel on the sidewalk. They were being arrested.

  “Mikhail?” Rudolf’s soft voice broke through Mikhail’s vision, pulling him back into the present.

  He grabbed Rudolf’s arm. “Hurry… We must hurry.”

  Rudolf didn’t argue but kept pace beside him.

  Mikhail dropped his friend’s arm and sped up. The tall arched entryway of the train station came into view. “We are about to have company—and not the good kind, my friend,” Mikhail whispered. As they hurried past the ticket agent, he glanced at the time board behind the desk and saw his train was scheduled to leave in only a few minutes.

  “Go,” Rudolf said and pushed him toward the stairwell leading down to the waiting train car. The car’s doors stood open as people continued to board the train. “I will lose them without a problem. Lucerne is my home, and I know my way around.” Without glancing behind him, Rudolf laid his hand on Mikhail’s arm as he moved by him, heading toward a small back gate. Where it led, Mikhail had no idea.

  Hurrying down the stairs, two at a time, he passed several of the train’s cars before ducking into one farther back in the shadows. Watching from the rear corner window, he recognized the lead man as he stumbled off the last cement stair and onto the platform. Waving his arms, the man regained his balance and pulled on the bottom of his tight jacket. He peered into the first car, looking at all the passengers before moving to the next car. The train let out a lonely whistle and jerked several times as it pulled away from the station, leaving the three Germans standing on the station platform.

  Mikhail breathed in a long sigh of relief at the close call, praying Rudolf made it safely home or that the men hadn’t recognized him. Growing up, he never understood his visions. Why did they show him some things and not others? They also never gave him enough warning. His gift had shown his own family’s arrest only moments before it happened. He’d had just enough time to grab a few things and stuff a pick and a razor blade in the soles of his shoes before the Gestapo arrived.

  After his escape, he’d asked his grandmother about their Sight. She told him if he used the gift, practicing and letting it grow with him, he would know the answer. The last time they’d talked about it, she’d told him to practice his gift more. He would need it in the dark days to come. How he wished he had listened to her. She had been right, of course, and now, more than ever, he needed his gift of foresight.

  He pulled out his grandmother’s worry stone, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface. The etchings, or runes, on one side of the stone had faded over time, so much so he could barely make out the separate lines. The beautiful swirls of blues and greens reminded him of the ocean or pictures he’d seen of the universe. He ran the pad of his thumb over the slight etching, the edges worn almost smooth.

  His grandmother had said the stone was labradorite and would help him focus and strengthen his magic, his gift, or whatever his Romani legacy could be called. He remembered the first time he’d seen his babushka rubbing the stone between her fingers. She’d said it was special—given to her great-grandmother by the goddess Freyja herself and when invoked would bring either the goddess’s help or her wrath. Through the centuries, the stone’s true gift had been forgotten, and his ancestors had never been willing to take a chance on incurring the goddess’s wrath.

  Should he?

  2

  Moscow, Soviet Union

  August, 1942

  Natalya Volkov took the stained, government missive, the official red-lettered logo, CCCP, or the Union of Soviet Socialist Republic, visible in the upper left-hand corner. Hands shaking, she read the typed words, her mouth moving with each, then reread them. Her heart stuttered, and her breath caught in her throat. She raised her gaze to her best friend’s, pressing her lips tightly together as she tried to hold back her sob, wishing they weren’t surrounded by so many male pilots and other military officials.

  “It’s been one year since the Nazis attacked my hometown of Smolensk. The pain will never go away, will it?” One of her closest friends, Marina Sokolov had a way about her that calmed Natalya—as if this determined and focused woman somehow knew everything would be all right.

  Marina laid her hand on Natalya’s arm, steadying the vibrating piece of paper clutched in her hand. “What’s happened?”

  “My babushka didn’t make it. Too old to join the Red Army, my dedushka vowed they would never take his home. Grandmother wasn’t happy, but she understood. My grandfather was prideful. She knew he would fight the Germans when they arrived, and he did. Valiantly. But one elderly man against the German Wehrmacht? Once he was taken to Germany with the other Russian prisoners, my babushka knew she would never see him again.”

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t taken too.”

  Natalya wiped a tear hanging onto her bottom lashes and gently folded the letter. Sliding it back into the stained
envelope, she tucked it in her jacket pocket. “During the attack, she was shot in the shoulder. The Germans left her for dead.”

  “We have good doctors here. What happened?”

  “Age and lack of immediate treatment, I suppose. After Smolensk was attacked, everything was in chaos and no one found her for several days. Luckily, Grandfather knew to hide food and water. He was always preparing for some sort of tragedy. A leftover habit from the first war. She was weak and had lost so much blood. Misha had just returned home from one of his Resistance missions and went to check on her.” Natalya frowned. “Do you remember me mentioning him? His name is actually Mikhail. He was our closest neighbor… Anyway, he was able to get her to one of the makeshift medical units the Red Army had stationed along the back perimeter of the advancing German army. The Wehrmacht moved so fast. It’s a wonder anyone survived, as the Nazis systematically killed any Russian who had the misfortunate to get in their way. What they did to the women and children….”

  “I know all about the devastation, Natalya. I am so sorry.”

  Natalya swallowed several times, her stomach a jittery mess. “At first, the doctors thought Grandmother might lose her arm, but the reports seemed so positive. She was healing.” Natalya paused, clearing her throat as sorrow threatened to destroy what little composure she’d managed to scrape together. “The letter doesn’t say how she died, just that she did. It’s the typical ‘I’m sorry to inform you’ communication. It’s only my opinion, but I think she died from a broken heart. For the entirety of their marriage, my grandparents had never been separated. During the day, they worked side by side on their small farm and slept in each other’s arms all night. I don’t believe one could live without the other.”

  “Oh, Natalya, I am so very sorry.”

  Natalya tried to smile. “Thank you. I’d like to believe they are now together in heaven. My grandfather wouldn’t have lasted long in a Nazi camp, so maybe somehow Grandmother knew he was gone. She missed him too much.”

  Marina placed her hand on Natalya’s shoulder and squeezed. “We are at war, so use your grief and anger. It can fuel your flying—just don’t let it control your actions. You are one of the best pilots the 588th has, but I need you to be as alert and focused as ever in the air. Our mission is too important.”

  “Have you learned something new? What’s our next mission?” Natalya whispered in the too-quiet room. The one person she trusted above all others, other than Mikhail, glanced around the room to make sure they were out of earshot. She had learned the hard way that not everyone agreed with Stalin’s involvement in the war. Many people had been furious when the Soviet Union’s leader signed the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact, supposedly keeping them out of the war. With the German advance into the motherland, the pact had failed.

  After the attack on Smolensk, Natalya had been a basket case. She quickly learned to rely on the sound advice of her flying instructor. Unlike her, Marina was a decorated pilot and had many friends in the Russian government, including Stalin. She was usually privy to classified information, which helped plan the 588th’s nightly attacks against the Germans.

  Marina stood and with a quick flick of her dark brown eyes, motioned for Natalya to follow as she left the crowded room. With strong fingers gripping Natalya’s forearm, she led her down the hallway and into one of the smaller offices. Closing the door quietly, she whispered, “I need you to return to Engels and make sure the planes and pilots are ready to fly earlier than usual.”

  Natalya’s cropped blonde curls bounced across her neck as she nodded. “Of course, but what have you learned?”

  “We’ve received secret intel that there is to be an attack on Stalingrad. Hitler must be feeling sure about his army’s capability of defeating us. Russia is rich in land, resources, and people. I wouldn’t put it past the German führer to want our beautiful country destroyed and throw the Russian people into his work camps. Most of the time, I don’t understand that man. He spouts nothing but nonsense.”

  Marina moved to the door and cracked it open just enough to see down the hallway in either direction. “It’s clear.” She opened the door and motioned with a sweep of her hand for Natalya to follow her into the hall. “You will go and ready the women back at the base. I will make your excuses and take care of things here then meet you at the airfield.” Marina pushed her toward the door. “Go quickly and safely. Because of the pact, Stalin doesn’t believe Hitler will move against him, but the German army is already on the move. We have much to accomplish before they strike.”

  Two Days Later

  Engels, Soviet Union

  Exhausted from the long night’s bombing raid, Natalya climbed down from her plane. Her navigator—who also happened to be her younger sister—followed behind her.

  “Tonight was good, don’t you think?” Lilyann asked, her voice filled with the excitement of youth. She was only three years Natalya’s junior, but her youthful optimism made Natalya feel ancient.

  Natalya ran her hand over the bullet holes in the side of the plane and shook her head. “Too close. You take too many chances with our lives.” She could only see the outline of Lilyann’s face, but knew her sister rolled her eyes at the terse words.

  “Without chances, the Germans would be able to shoot us down. We do not have the luxuries the men have in their new planes. We have no radios, and our interphones are about as helpful as tin cans strung together. I have to figure coordinates by flashlight with a stopwatch and a worn map. All of this, I might add, is without heaters. I’m surprised we aren’t frozen stiff by the end of each night.” Lilyann grasped her arm with a slight squeeze before letting go. “Beside, taking chances may just end this war a little bit sooner.”

  Natalya watched her sister walk into the barracks as their mechanic crew raced over to prep the planes for the next night’s mission. She was probably right. Chances were all they had…within reason, of course. One day, hopefully soon, her sister would learn that lesson.

  She followed in Lilyann’s footsteps, the thick layer of white snow crystals crunching underneath her too-large boots. Inside the barracks, the air wasn’t as cold, but it wasn’t toasty warm either. She quickly changed into her nightclothes and fell onto her cot. The moment her head touched the thin wafer acting as a pillow, she fell sleep.

  Natalya stood in front of her family’s home. Memories flooded through her as she looked around her old homestead. Memories of security within the four walls and being surrounded by her family’s love. Laughter. Memories of fear invading, tears for friends and loved ones lost from Stalin’s paranoia and his purge of Russia.

  Their lives had changed so completely. Her gaze moved over the rusted farm equipment. They no longer farmed for fear of reprisals. Fear of death. The dilapidated barn was on the verge of collapse, and weeds now filled her mother’s garden. She walked to the front porch railing and ran her fingertips over the weather-roughened wood, the once quaint white paint now peeling away.

  Memory after memory flitted through her mind. The day she helped her mother and sister plant their garden, hidden from prying eyes. She found her dream self at the edge of the clearing. Her father’s barn on the other side, the two sliding front doors open wide, as if beckoning her to come inside.

  Excitement blossomed, remembering the days spent with her father, fixing the broken U-2. The day she climbed into its cockpit and soared through the sky. Her dream self smiled at the special memory. That day had changed her life.

  She felt the first tingle of sunlight as the sun rose in the sky. Glancing down, she noticed the way it sparkled as it shined through her, like a mist. She turned, noticing there was no shadow trailing the ground behind her. How could that be? Everything felt so real…

  Running toward the creek to get her father for breakfast, her heart pounded in her chest. The wind picked up, blowing her long blonde hair around her face. Fear invaded the sunny day. Something was wrong. What was it? Gunshots echoed in her ears—she ran faster. She had to get to
her father!

  Reaching the trees near the bank, she saw something floating in the water. She squinted. What was in the water? A body…blood…her father…

  Realization dawned. Her mouth opened in a scream, but she was shoved from behind. The hand covering her mouth eased her suffering. She recognized the woodsy scent of her best friend, Misha. Warmth and love filled her heart, but her thoughts turned to her father. Sorrow and pain tore at her, stripping the comfort away.

  “I’m sorry, Talya. I tried to get here in time to warn your family, but I was too late. Red Army soldiers came for my grandfather too—called us all kulaks—too prosperous.” Natalya felt numb, her body paralyzed. His words didn’t make sense. Their families had no money.

  She twisted in her sheets, the dream filling her with such grief. She sobbed into her pillow, crying out for her father—weeping for all she had lost.

  “Natalya! Wake up!”

  She groaned, and her sister’s voice broke through the sorrow. Natalya realized it had only been a dream…but it had happened. She remembered everything about that day, the memories finally coming to the surface. Now, maybe, her heart would heal.

  “Talya!”

  Hearing the worry in her sister’s voice, she fought the lethargy consuming her body, but her eyes refused to open. Her body felt so heavy, unresponsive. Wrapped in layers of fear from her past, she struggled to let go of the dream holding her in its grip and wake up.

  “Lilyann?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “What’s happened?”

  “Wake up, sister, you are scaring me.”

  Lilyann’s plea gave Natalya the strength she needed to escape her deep sleep. She cracked open her eyelids, her sister’s tear-streaked face appearing in front of her. She raised her hand to Lilyann’s face and wiped away the tears on one cheek. “Shhh, kotёhok,” she mumbled, hoping by calling her kitten, like she did when they were younger, would ease her distress. She hadn’t seen her sister this upset since their father’s death and their mother’s incarceration in the labor camp.