Death of a Dissident - Alex Goldfarb [101]
He spent the night in a local hotel, paying cash. In the morning he came to the pier twenty minutes before departure.
“You are late, young man,” said the woman at the ticket desk. “Do you see the sign? Registration closes three hours before departure, because we have to submit lists to the border control. The next boat is at three o’clock.”
Sasha knew the system. But he could not allow his name to be checked against the border control watch list.
“I know, I know I’m late,” he said. “But look, I absolutely need to be there by noon. I have a date, you see, she won’t wait. What shall I do? Help me.”
“Go talk to the crew.”
The second mate looked at him sternly: “Don’t you know there is a border here? Haven’t you heard the USSR ended ten years ago? Okay, it will cost you ten bucks. You will be my crew for the trip. And another ten for the border guard. Put it inside your ID.” He nodded to the border guard in the booth nearby.
The sleepy guard glanced at his ID, collected the banknote, and waved him through.
“I walked down the pier. I was wearing the light jacket that I was married in, the only one that I had, and the lucky one. It was the longest walk in my life,” Sasha told me later.
On October 2, Sasha’s friend brought instructions to Marina. She had never met him before, but she had little choice but to listen. He told her to get a new mobile phone, not just a sim-card, turn it on, call a certain number, and then hang up. From then on, he said, keep the phone on at all times, but do not call anybody else from it. When Sasha calls, don’t pronounce any last names, use only first names. Don’t use the phone at home or in the car.
She did as she was told. The next morning Sasha called.
“Good morning, my darling. Where are you? Driving? Alone? Could you park and take a walk? I will call in three minutes.”
While she was parking, she imagined him counting seconds, as she was doing. The phone rang again.
“How are you? How is Tolik? Anyone looking for me? I’m in Nalchik, sure. Listen, this is what I want you to do. Take the money that I left. Go to a travel agent. Not the one you used last time. Anyone but him. Get yourself and Tolya a two-week package to any Western European country, preferably Spain; you always wanted to see it. Or France, or Italy. The sooner the better. This is a surprise, my present for our wedding anniversary. Unfortunately, I can’t be with you. There is some work here, but I will be waiting at home when you come back.”
“But, Sasha, what will I say at work? Or at Tolya’s school?”
“Better to say nothing at all. You can call them after you’ve left and say that you fell sick. No one should know where you are going, it is very important. Not even your mom. You can tell her later.” She knew without asking that it wasn’t just a vacation trip.
On October 8, in Boston, Yuri Felshtinsky got Sasha’s call.
“I’ve linked up with my friends whom I told you about,” Sasha said. These were the people in a “third country” who could get him a false passport. “Come as soon as you can, please. And bring some cash. Ten grand. Or better, fifteen.”
On October 14, Marina and Tolya left for Spain. It was Sasha and Marina’s wedding anniversary. He called every half-hour until the plane was on the runway and she had to turn off her phone. When they landed in Malaga, she saw Yuri Felshtinsky waving from behind a barrier.
“Where is Sasha?” was her first question. “He’s not in Nalchik, is he?”
Yuri named the third country. “He will call any minute and explain everything.”
They got into Felshtinsky’s rented car and followed a tour bus. She had signed up with a tour for two weeks in Marbella, a resort on the coast of Andalusia.
“Of course, I realized that something was going on, that Nalchik was a cover. I thought that he wanted to get us out of Moscow because of some danger, you know. Such things happen in his profession,” Marina later explained. “But when he called