Leave no clue never get.., p.1
LEAVE NO CLUE: Never Get Caught, page 1
LEAVE NO CLUE
Jack Naughton
Book 1 of the Fusebox trilogy
Copyright © Jack Naughton 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication, other
than those clearly in public domain, are fictitious and
any resemblance to real persons, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored
in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by
any means, without the prior permission of the publisher,
nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This Book is dedicated to
Rory and Holly
Chapter 1
Sverdlovsk
From a meteorological point of view, January isn’t the best time of year to be in Ekaterinburg. However, if you are prepared to put up with bitterly cold winds sweeping in from the Ural Mountains, you might feel right at home here. At this time of year, winter is at its deepest and the daily temperature only gets higher than minus ten degrees Celsius, once in a blue moon. But despite the ferociously cold weather, it is a city full of uncomplaining, hardy individuals who are expert at coping with the most extreme sub-zero conditions.
In 1988, the fourth largest city in Russia was still known by its Soviet nomenclature of Sverdlovsk. At that time, its citizens, along with the rest of the population in the Soviet Union, could sense they were close to the dawning of a new age. There was a beguiling spirit of optimism in the air. To some, it was so strong they imagined they could almost touch it. Perestroika and Glasnost, restructuring and openness, were the words which sent out a signal that the politicians were finally getting around to doing things differently. Two years had passed since the party Chairman announced these new initiatives and, as far as most people could see, nothing much had happened since then. This was not an uncommon occurrence in the country whose citizens had had over seventy years to become accustomed to waiting. A considerable number of cynical members of its population, didn’t believe anything at all would happen. They had it pegged as Kremlin hogwash.
The more impatient younger generation could not understand why it was taking so long. It was a time of maddening frustration for them.
Their youthfully fresh outlook on life reminded them democracy was tantalizingly close, but they feared restructuring was being hampered by the old guard of party officials who would have been doing their utmost to prevent change from happening, whilst fiercely defending the status quo.
Nonetheless, within the vibrant population of those under thirty years of age, there existed an eagerness for something to happen.
They prayed for something good and fundamentally different from the cold tyranny of communism, which had been the only party on the political menu, for what had seemed like an eternity.
One man who was doing his level best to thwart any political changes, was a middle ranking regional party official called Foma Lebedev.
He didn’t have the power or authority to have any influence on what might happen in the future. But he did have a warped sense of party loyalty and he considered it his sworn duty, as a true communist, to scupper the decadent plans of this new wave of free-thinking ideologists.
It seemed Foma had been destined to forge a career for himself in politics. His childhood hero was Josef Stalin and, without fail, Foma would write him a cringingly obsequious letter every week. This practice began when Foma was seven years old and continued, without interruption, until his twelfth birthday, which happened to coincide with the death of his esteemed role model.
The volume of letters he sent, elicited a solitary response. It was a personal letter from the Premier, thanking him for being a good communist. And concluded with, Your Comrade and Friend. Josef Stalin. He received the letter precisely one week before Stalin died.
The letter had stood him in good stead when he first became a party official. Doors certainly opened more quickly for him than they did for his contemporaries. His rapid rise through the ranks came to a halt in the late 1970’s, largely because of the emerging news of unbelievably monstrous atrocities instigated by Stalin. Foma very quickly found himself side-lined from mainstream politics and local decision making. What hurt him most was not being perceived as a person of importance in other people’s eyes. Over time, Foma Lebedev became a bitter, vindictive and vengeful man, who would spend a great deal of time in his remaining years as a party official, feathering his own nest.
Corrupt officials, such as Foma Lebedev, had an uncanny knack of discovering ways and means of obtaining goods that were not available to the general public. Lebedev had penchants for Camel cigarettes, sandalwood eau-de-cologne and Macallan whisky.
He had devised a method of obtaining these products by circumventing import procedures and having them delivered to him, from the port of entry in Latvia, directly to his home. This type of practice was widespread throughout the party and had come to be regarded as a perquisite of the job.
As far as Lebedev knew, no-one had ever been fired or prosecuted for sneaking goods, for personal use, into the country. To create an impression of legitimacy and importance, Lebedev had independently ordered six black, official diplomatic holdalls and gave instructions for them to be delivered to his office in Sverdlovsk. From there he had them transported to one of his few friends, Captain Tobias Arins, who would keep them on board his ship, the RS Usseyev. Three times each year the cargo vessel Usseyev would sail from Riga in Latvia to Havana, Cuba. And on each return journey it would carry enough cigarettes, whisky and eau-de-cologne to fill at least two holdalls. Tobias Arins would package the goods in accordance with his friend’s wishes. Protective packaging would surround each bottle rendering it impossible for the clinking of glass to be heard and reducing the possibility of breakage and theft.
The holdalls would be brought to his house by one of the ship’s seamen who happened to live in Sverdlovsk. This
had been the routine for three years until it was abruptly ended by the sudden death of the seaman following a massive heart attack.
The news of his death had reached Lebedev’s ears one week after the tragic event and just two weeks after the seaman had returned home from his latest trip, which had been the week before Christmas. Lebedev was aware the ship would remain in port as it underwent a re-fit before its next scheduled sailing, in the following April. He wasted no time in phoning and informing Captain Arins of the unexpected and sad death of one of his crew. He also let the captain know that there would be no need for him to look for a replacement crew member. Foma had the perfect
person for the job. His own nephew, who happened to live in Sverdlovsk. Tobias Arins put up a show of resistance when he expressed his preference for an experienced sailor and explained that when they were at sea, there would be little, or no time at all for on-the-job training.
Foma Lebedev was having none of it. With a firm tone to his voice, he informed Tobias his nephew would be joining him as an officer cadet. Training would be given before the ship set sail. Two days later Foma Lebedev turned up at his sister’s house, with the sole purpose of recruiting her son, and proceeded to tell one lie after another. He described the deckhand job as a structured officer cadet training program. Progression to the rank of Captain within seven years was assured.
His sister, Anya Kuznetsova, had always dreaded any pre-arranged visit from her brother. To find him on her doorstep, having arrived completely out of the blue, had been horrifying for her. As he spoke of a maritime career for her son, she listened but found it hard to believe him. She knew her brother well. And all of what he was doing and saying, was entirely out of character.
“Beware of Greeks bearing gifts” would have been her mother’s advice.
She wanted to refuse on her son’s behalf. But if she chose to do that, there would be dire consequences for her and her son. Her brother was a bully, and he carried a grudge with gusto. She had good reason to be extremely frightened of what he might do if she declined his most unwelcome offer. So, it was with great reluctance that she agreed, then silently prayed for divine intervention.
Her brother told her that he would prepare the contract of employment for her son, along with details of the ships next voyage. With hesitation, she agreed for her son to visit him the following day to listen to what his uncle had to say. Anya’s peaceful life had been thrown into turmoil by her self-serving contemptible brother. She was distraught.
After he left, she violently threw-up in the kitchen. She made it to the sink in time to prevent the contents of her stomach splattering onto the floor. She then sat down at the kitchen table and raised her eyes to the heavens. She directed a question at God and asked him, what had she done to deserve the unfairness her brother had just brought into her life.
She felt trapped. Her son was not quite eighteen and, in her eyes, not yet ready to get through life on his own. She didn’t want her son to leave her and certainly not in circumstances such as these. She would never, in a thousand years, have envisaged a life at sea for her son.
Nor had her son, Alexei, ever given the merest hint of a hankering for a life on the oceans waves. The only f
She waited for her son to return from college. She would cook some food and they would both eat at the table, and they would talk.
She would let him know of the purpose of his uncle’s visit and await his reaction.
Her inner turmoil had been heightened when it occurred to her that it would be wise to encourage Alexei to agree to his uncle’s offer. For his sake and hers.
She wished her husband was still alive. Foma would never have dared to present him with the same fait accompli he had just thrown in her lap. She would pray to him that night and ask for guidance. She desperately wanted something to happen which would return her world to normal. A miracle. Anya decided to implore the good lord every night, for a miracle which would keep her son at home.
Following the meeting with his uncle, Alexei Kuznetsov returned home to find his mother waiting with eager anticipation of his news. He quickly noticed she was tightly twisting a handkerchief in her hands. This was a sign he had come to recognize of her being worried. She did this whenever she was distressed. He was hopeful his news would go some way to relieve her anxiety.
Her brother had already drawn up official papers for the role of Officer Cadet. Similarly, he had pre-prepared a contract of employment for Alexei. He knew his mother had grave concerns about a career with the navy. However, because he would be working on a cargo ship, as opposed to a battleship or aircraft carrier, her misgivings should have been somewhat pacified. Alexie had been hugely impressed by his uncle’s kindness in considering him for such an important role. And he was pleasantly surprised to learn that permission had already been granted for him continue his studies while he was at sea. Needless to say, there be would no facilities on board the ship for tutorials, but he would be free to revise to his heart’s content. It seemed all the areas of concern his mother had voiced, had been addressed.
And so, in the belief his mother would have approved, he had willingly signed the contract.
Alexei Kuznetsov had never felt happier in all his life. His uncle had used his influence in securing him the position of naval officer cadet and he would commence his career on a merchant ship, setting sail from Latvia in the following April. He had left his uncle’s office and was returning home so he could share his joy with his mother. Along the way he stopped at a grocery store to buy his mother a packet of her favourite tea as well as two slices of her favourite cake. They would celebrate his fortune with the finest Indian tea and the tastiest cakes in Russia. Because the weather was so bitingly cold, cycling to and from destinations was out of the question. He took the tram that day which resulted in him taking a different path from the one he usually took through the woods. He was walking quickly to keep warm as he passed the woodsman’s hut one hundred metres to his left. He noticed the woodsman carrying out a repair on one of the several charcoal kilns, close to the hut. In the six weeks since Alexei and the woodsman had come to acknowledge each other with a wave of the hand, they had sat down for a chat on a few occasions. He enjoyed the woodsman’s company.
The woodsman looked up and noticed Alexei. He waved.
Alexei returned the gesture. Having tea with his mother was uppermost in his mind and although he was keen to impart his news to his new friend, he decided it could wait until the next time he passed by.
He knew his mother would have been fretting while he was visiting his uncle. When he walked into the kitchen, she sprang up from her chair and hugged him as though he had been away for many a year. Her tension did not last long, their small tea-time treat brought the smile back to her face and as evening approached, she was feeling much happier.
Her son’s happiness had been infectious. It had lifted her spirits enough to eliminate the impulse to tie knots in her handkerchief. The contract of employment was official, and it was clear he wouldn’t be setting sail in a rust-bucket.
She took some comfort from the pictures he showed her of the RS Yusseyev. It was a modern cargo vessel with excellent facilities for the crew. It had the appearance of being big enough to cope with storms and high seas. These points made her feel less insecure. He would be leaving toward the end of April, which would give them slightly less than three months together. Alexei had become happily resolved his future would be a seafaring one. There was no turning back. So, she took the decision to stop feeling sorry for herself and to concentrate on being happy for him. And she vowed to keep her spirits up, right until the day of his departure.
Anatoly Zaitsev was the woodsman who had waved to Alexei as he quickly walked through the forest on his way home to give his mother the good news. Anatoly was surprised his new friend had not stopped to talk and smoke a cigarette over a cup of tea.
A few weeks before, Anatoly had called into a bar and had recognized one of a group of young men, sitting at a table in the corner of the room. He was the cyclist who frequently rode through the woods where he worked. Anatoly had his back to the young men as took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer for himself. He heard chairs scraping on the tiled floor and he turned to see the four young men walking towards the exit. As Alexie passed him, he held out his hand and said,
“Hi, you’re the guy on the bike. I’m the guy you see
working in the woods from time to time. My name is Anatoly. I thought it might be a good idea to put a name to a face.”
Alexei shook Anatoly’s hand.
“And I’m Alexei. Pleased to meet you Anatoly. My friends and I are heading for a bar a little closer to where we live. You are welcome to join us, if you have the need of company.”
“Thank you, Alexei, but I’m okay where I am. This is my side of town and I’m quite close to my home.”
After that brief exchange, Alexei routinely stopped for a few minutes whenever he saw Anatoly, who seemed to welcome the opportunity of taking a break and shooting the breeze with him. The friends he had been with, on the evening he had bumped into Anatoly, had been his work colleagues from the department of housing. They went out for a drink once every month and for the main part of the evening, they talked about work. It was the only thing they had had in common with each other.
He had no brothers or sisters, and no friends to speak of. His father, a civil engineer, had been killed by a drunk driver in a car crash when Alexei was four years old. He had no clear memories of his father. However, he had a vivid memory of his mother lying on the floor and crying her heart out at the sudden loss of the love of her life.
From that point on, his mother became determined that nothing bad would happen to her son. She would be there to always protect him, and she vowed never to let him out of her sight. Alexei Kuznetsov had had a cosseted upbringing. His mother declined every invitation to birthday parties, or any event which would mean he would be away from her. Eventually the invitations dried up.
Leaving him at school for the first time had been a traumatic event for her. She walked him to the entrance doors and had to be cajoled by the school’s teachers into letting go of his hand. As she watched him walking away from her, she burst into tears and had to be comforted by other mothers who understood why she was so deeply upset.
Alexei had grown up to be a thoroughly well-balanced young man. Anya, quite rightly, felt she had done a good job in shielding him from dubious influences. From an early age she had taught him to distinguish between right and wrong, and to show respect to his elders and to those in authority. She scolded him when she felt his behaviour warranted a reprimand. She encouraged him to seek goodness in others and to always be truthful. Anya truly deserved much praise for a job well done. Alexei knew his mother would be at her wit’s end at the prospect of him spending time away from home. But he also knew she had the resilience to accept his choice of career and would grow to fully support his decision.
