An American in St. Petersburg

By Michael Bickerton

Afghanistan veteran, Geoff Mathers is discharged from the United States Army. He returns to his parents' home in Seattle, Washington. With no career in sight he plans a holiday to St. Petersburg, Russia. His mother Natalya's grand parents had fled from Stalin's terror in 1931, and moved to London, England, eventually finding their permanent home in the U.S. before W.W.II. Geoff was looking forward to his trip and the many cultural activities available in St. Petersburg. He also wanted to explore the possibility of finding some relatives descended from his great grandfather, Valentin Dombrovski. At first, things went very well for Geoff. He met and fell in love with Tatyana, a civil engineering student. However, the underlying violence in Putin's Russia soon overwhelms them. Geoff fights to save Tatyana's life, exposing himself to great danger at the same time. Right wing paratroopers target both of them. Will either of them live? Do they have any future together? Does Geoff's military experience help him survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Bickerton
• Release date: Sep 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991952427

Michael Bickerton

Michael Bickerton lives in the Pacific Northwest. Former educator, radio reporter, newspaper editor, construction laborer, and lumber mill worker, Michael now pursues his greatest love, writing.Michael enjoys bike riding, especially on the inter-urban trail near Fairhaven in Bellingham. He is an avid photographer, and loves to take pictures of wildlife and scenery on the West Coast of the United States.

Book preview

An American in St. Petersburg

Written by

Michael Bickerton

Copyright © 2015 by Michael Bickerton

ISBN 978-0-9919524-2-7

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author/publisher; except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

Cover design by Celina Frisson

Dedicated to my very talented brother Sean Bickerton

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Geoff Mathers looked out the window at Lake Washington. Only three days left before his trip to St. Petersburg, Russia; he still couldn’t believe he was going. Would he finally put the hell of Afghanistan behind him? Little did he know then, however, how important that war experience would be in dealing with the dangers he would later face. He had received his army discharge only a few weeks before. Why did he always have to be so altruistic? He had seen so many young people going off to fight in Afghanistan, and had felt he should contribute in some way; so after his graduation from Harvard he had joined up with the army thinking he might be able to work as a press liaison officer. As so often happens in those situations, things didn’t quite work out that way; the army assigned him to combat duty. He put in his two years, but couldn’t wait to get out of there. As much as he admired and loved his fellow soldiers, Afghanistan was a mess, and he didn’t think they had made much difference at all. He knew the American Government was soon going to announce an end to the war, but there was still so much corruption and violence; he felt so sorry for the Afghan people, especially the women.

When he got back to the States, nobody seemed interested in his army experience, it even seemed to be a detriment. He had looked into reporting for a small daily newspaper, to possibly start a career as a journalist, but nothing had been finalized. When he told his parents about the trip he had planned to Saint Petersburg, they were very excited about it, and reminded him about his great grandparents who had escaped from Stalin's Russia, and had come to New York in 1931. They had died before Geoff was born, and although he knew they had come from near St. Petersburg he knew very little about their life there.

A week ago he had contacted his friend from Harvard, John Beringer, who was working on the New York Times, and asked him if he would be interested in any freelance stories he might dig up when he was in Russia. John told him to focus on the underground movements there, and told him he could use any articles that might throw some light on what opposition there was to Putin's government.

Geoff flew from Seattle to Frankfurt on Lufthansa Airlines, and from there he caught a direct flight to St. Petersburg. Anyone observing him, saw a six foot tall young man, 185 pounds, with blond neatly trimmed hair, and deep blue eyes, walk quickly off the plane and into the customs area, looking around him, seemingly curious about everything he was observing. Geoff was tired after the long flight, but thanks to his army training was in good shape, and was too interested in everything, to worry about his lack of sleep. The customs officers were surprised he spoke some Russian, and it seemed to help a bit; other passengers seemed to be detained for much longer. Thank God he had taken the two years of Russian classes at Harvard, thinking at the time it might further enhance his chances to get a job as a foreign correspondent. That, combined with his Mom speaking Russian to him when he was young, had made him reasonably fluent. Once outside the terminal, he eventually found a taxi and asked to be taken to the Ibis Hotel in the centre of town.

The taxi driver, Sergei was short, a little pot on him, maybe five-eight, smoking an American cigarette. Geoff could see he wasn’t going to help him with his suitcase, and put it in the cab himself. Sergei threw a newspaper in the back and brushed some dirt off the front passenger seat and motioned for Geoff to get in. As he started to speak in Russian, Sergei told him to speak in English, he liked to practice it.

So, what do you think of Putin? Geoff said.

He’s a moron; he’s worse than Stalin.

Geoff was a little surprised by the severity of Sergei’s comments. He knew how much Putin had tried to curtail his opposition, but thought most people liked his strong guy image. Isn’t Russia pretty prosperous right now? Geoff said.

Yeah, especially if you’re one of Putin’s friends, Sergei said.

Geoff decided to change the topic. Where’s a good place to go out at night?

What are you looking for, girls, drugs?

No, I’m a journalist. Are there any place where the intelligentsia, or opposition hang out; where the hip young people like to go?

Sure, I can handle that. I’ll take you to your hotel right now, though. They have a pretty good restaurant. Have something to eat. How bout I come back later, and I’ll take you to the places you want to see?

Sounds good. Geoff paid him and said, I’ll meet you outside at eight."

Geoff checked in at the front desk. As he looked around, the hotel seemed reasonably modern, at least it was clean, but it looked more like a Motel 10 than the Hilton. After he got to his room on the third floor, he unpacked his suitcase, hung some shirts, and his sports jacket in the closet and put the rest of the stuff in the chest of drawers. He showered, then dressed in his Calvin Klein slim cut jeans and black V-neck sweater. After he had slipped on his favorite Rockport loafers he grabbed his black leather bomber jacket and went down for supper. The waiter put him at a table near the entrance to the restaurant. Geoff sat with his back to the wall, and observed his fellow diners. Sitting nearby was a middle aged man in an ill-fitting grey suit, one shirt tail hanging out, a narrow tie loosely hanging around his neck. Geoff could hear him slurring his words, and watched him pawing the young blond with noticeable dark hair roots. She obviously wasn't amused, but Geoff figured she must be a paid escort, as she seemed to be trying to placate him. He heard the man speaking Russian, and wondered what he did for a living. Was he one of the corrupt government officials he had heard so much about?

Geoff went back to eating his supper. Wasn't bad food he thought, but pretty bland, meat and potatoes. He looked at his watch, five to eight; he thought he’d better go outside and see if Sergei had arrived. Sergei pulled away from the curb, his taxi smoking, and sounding as if its muffler was non-existent. So where you taking me Sergei, my first night in St. Petersburg?

I thought you might like Dom Beat. Young crowd, good drinks, and they clear the tables for dancing later on.

Sounds good, how do I get home?

I'll come back at midnight to get you, unless that's too early. said Sergei.

That's probably about right. If I want to leave earlier, I'll call you on my cell.

Sergei gave Geoff his number.

As they drove through the wide St. Petersburg streets, Geoff couldn't quite believe he was there.

Hopefully Sergei could help him find his way around the town, for the short time he was here, Geoff thought. He was apprehensive, but looking forward to his time in St. Petersburg. Before he knew it, Sergei pulled over to the curb and pointed to the entrance to Dom Beat. Geoff walked up to the front door and was let in by a doorman, after he had given him five American dollars. A beautiful blond hostess, dressed in a uniform he couldn't place, came up to him and asked him in English where he wanted to sit. Geoff didn't tell her he spoke Russian; he obviously looked like an American tourist to her.

Geoff pointed to the bar; she led him to a seat and asked him what he wanted to drink. Geoff looked the wine list over and decided to splurge for a change; he ordered a glass of St. Emilion Grand Crux 2005. Looking around him he couldn't help but notice how prosperous everyone seemed, mostly young people, sometimes in hip or avant-garde clothing styles, others in expensive more conservative, still casual dress. Eavesdropping, the conversations could have been from any big American city; clothes, bands, sports, relationships. In fact it was boring him. Where was the City of the Tsars, Venice of the North, this great cultural centre his grandparents had talked about? Even though they were born in North America, their parents had instilled in them the great artistic traditions of Russia. After the communist regime had fallen, they had visited Russia, and had told him about their visits, encouraging in him a respect for, and a desire to see the art galleries, classical concerts and ballet they had seen, and loved so much. He talked to a few people at the bar, but wasn't overly interested in them, or them in him. He was glad when he saw it was midnight. Sergei was outside and he hopped in his cab.

What'd you think about that?

To be perfectly honest Sergei, pretty boring, a lot like young people on the make in big American cities. God he hated to think how he sounded. He must be the oldest 24 year old in the world. He was constantly reminded how much his off and on, two year stint in Afghanistan had affected him. Whether it was good or bad was certainly debateable. Whatever, he had to live with it, and make the most of it. Sometimes he could stay positive; other times it overwhelmed him.

Well you said you wanted to see some protest groups. There's a march tomorrow to free the members of the band 'Pussy Riot', who are in jail for singing in a church. Would you like to see that?

Sure, what time is it?

It should get going around noon; we should go a little early. How bout I pick you up at 11 tomorrow morning?

Sure. What happens during these type of demonstrations? Will there be any police or army there?

There'll be police for sure, and probably some of the usual collection of goons, paratroopers etc., who do Putin's dirty work for him.

What do you mean?

The right wing assholes Putin loves, will beat up the protestors if they can get away with it, while the police turn a convenient blind eye. The only thing that will save them is if some foreign press are there. It can get pretty rough; you have to be careful, said Sergei.

Okay, sounds like what I'm looking for. See you tomorrow. Geoff had read about the band Pussy Riot and their protest in a Russian church. It was ridiculous the sentence they had got, when what they did was really not much more than an outrageous prank. However, from reading, he knew Putin was aligning himself with the conservative and traditional segments of Russian society, and didn't care how he quashed any opposition to his policies. Geoff thought it particularly bad that they had sentenced a young woman from the band, with a young child to look after, to more than a year in a harsh prison, far from where she lived.

Chapter 2

After breakfast the second day Geoff went for a walk around the area of his hotel, to get some fresh air before Sergei got there. Both last night, when Sergei was driving him around, and today, he couldn't help but observe the disparity and contrast that seemed to be part of everyday life in Russia; Bentleys, and old run down Ladas, women in the latest European fashions, and Babushkas selling vegetables on the street corner, Drunks in rags, lying or staggering in the alleys while men in beautiful London styled suits walked briskly along with purpose and aplomb. Not unlike some cities in the States he thought, if he was totally honest, but the disparity there was not as extensive as it was in Russia.

He went back to his hotel, sat in the café and had coffee before Sergei was due to arrive. Shortly after, Sergei came into the hotel, sat down and had a coffee with him. He was smoking, as were many other people in the restaurant; obviously no non-smoking laws like in the States he thought.

Listen Geoff. I'm going to take you to where the demonstration is, but keep your distance. It's too easy to get caught up in the violence that can break out at any moment.

I can look after myself. Geoff said.

Sergei gave him the once over, but still looked skeptical. What makes you think that, you superman or something.

No, but I was in Afghanistan, and did learn some things in the army, I hope.

Okay, but you're only one person and things can escalate quickly.

I'm not stupid; I'll be careful.

When they got to the protest site, Sergei pulled over to the curb, and warned Geoff again about getting involved. Call me on my cell when you want a ride.

Geoff got out of the cab and found a place on the curb, near the front of a café. He could see the marchers assembling in the distance on the large grass boulevard. He ordered a café latte and sat at a small table in front of the café. They were just starting the procession, and moved out on to the main street. As they reached the café, Geoff could see from his right a small group of men, wearing what looked like Russian paratroopers’ uniforms, wade into the protest, and start swearing at the marchers. They started punching and kicking the demonstrators. Two of them grabbed a young woman and hauled her out onto the sidewalk. The taller one called her a slut and slapped her; the other grabbed her by the hair and started dragging her into the nearby alley. She was screaming at them, but to no avail. Geoff got up and blocked their way.

Leave her alone, let her go. he said in Russian. The tall one, who was obviously the leader looked at Geoff menacingly. Mind your own business asshole.

Geoff coolly stood his ground. I won't tell you again. Let her go.

The shorter man took a swing at Geoff. Geoff side stepped him, kicked his legs out from under him and kicked him in the groin, leaving him writhing on the ground. The taller guy was a more formidable opponent, obviously, but Geoff stepped inside his punches, kneed him in the groin, and karate chopped him in his throat. He heard the police sirens, so grabbed the girl's hand and told her they needed to get out of there. She looked at him questioningly but thought he was probably her best alternative, and let him lead her away. She told him where there