The Mystery of the Russian Ransom (2 page)

But that’s a silly complaint when I think about it. Would I rather be dead in a snowbank in the middle of nowhere or drinking pop that’s too sweet? I’ll take the pop, thanks.

I think there is a one-way window in the door. There’s frosted glass there, and I can’t see out. But I think they can see in – otherwise, why have the window? But if someone is watching me, they know I’m writing in my diary, and no one has tried to stop me.

What is it they want with me?

Someone is coming again.

That was weird! It was the woman again, but this time she smiled. I thought the smile looked fake,
like she was trying to pretend everything was all right, when obviously it isn’t. I didn’t smile back.

She speaks very good English. She has a strong accent, but I can understand her fine. “I have something for you, Sarah,” she said when she came in.

She knew my name! How could that possibly be? She didn’t take my wallet from my pack when she went through it. And my name isn’t anywhere on the pack.

But she knows my name. She used it twice.

“Sarah, we want you to change into these,” she said.

She was carrying a bag. She opened it up and pulled out a bunch of athletic stuff. Underclothes and a tracksuit. She laid it all out on the bed, smiled, and left the room. I heard the lock click behind her as she left.

I sat for the longest time. I didn’t know what to do. But then – curious, I guess – I held the clothes up to me to see if they would fit. It looked like they would.

I went into the washroom so I’d have a little privacy and put the clothes on. They were all
brand-new and smelled fresh. And everything fit perfectly!

I looked in the mirror and actually liked what I saw. The tracksuit is bright red but has a small emblem over the heart. It’s golden and looks like a two-headed eagle or something. I know I have seen it somewhere before.

But why a tracksuit? Do they expect me to work out in this little room?

Someone is coming again.

“O
kay, Travis,” Muck said very carefully. “Slow it down, young man – and let’s start again at the very beginning.”

Travis closed his eyes and took several deep, long breaths. He brushed his light brown hair back from his forehead. It was soaking wet from his run. He felt his heart slowing down. It was still racing but no longer pounded in his chest.

The
beginning
, yes. But even before the incident in the park, there was the trip to Russia. Even
before Sarah was kidnapped, it was already the most incredible, bizarre trip the Screech Owls had ever undertaken.

It began with Dmitri Yakushev’s uncle. Dmitri’s family came from Leningrad, Russia – which used to be called Saint Petersburg, and now is called Saint Petersburg again. Travis and the rest of the Owls soon learned that nothing is simple in Russia.

Coach Muck Munro, who is a history nut, told the Screech Owls’ parents that some guy named Winston Churchill once said, “Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” That made Travis’s mom and dad nod with approval, and there were murmurs of agreement all around the room where the Owls’ parents had gathered to talk about maybe going to Russia.

Travis looked back at Nish, who was sitting just behind with his mom. Nish’s face was beet red and so twisted that it looked like someone with
huge hands had just tried to wring his neck. Nish could never sit still. Travis thought they shouldn’t even try making him.

Travis knew exactly what his best friend was thinking: What the heck does
that
mean? Travis knew what a riddle was. And he knew, of course, what a mystery was. His grandmother was a great fan of Agatha Christie, who must have written more than a hundred mysteries, and Travis loved the Sherlock Holmes mysteries on television. But an
enigma
?

Maybe Muck was talking about this man who had approached the Owls about coming to Russia. The man knew Dmitri’s uncle. The Yakushev family had a connection right back to the famous 1972 Summit Series, when Paul Henderson had scored the most famous goal in hockey history. The best player and top scorer on the Soviet Union team had been Alexander Yakushev, a relative.

Dmitri’s father had talked to the parents about how different the Russia of today was from the Soviet Union of 1972. Back then, Russia was seen as the enemy. There was only one political party,
the Communist Party, and whoever was head of the party was a dictator. The people had no power and no say. They were very poor, because most of the country’s money went into military operations and spying on countries like the United States and Great Britain. The Soviets and Americans were so often on the verge of fighting each other that it was called the Cold War.

“In Russia today, people have the vote, just like here,” Dmitri’s father told the parents. “And communism has been replaced by American-style capitalism to the point where there are bigger malls than anything we have here. Everyone wears fur,” he said, maybe exaggerating a little, “and, just like us, everyone drives a Japanese car.”

Anyway, Dmitri’s uncle had contacted Dmitri’s father with an idea. The Screech Owls would be invited to Russia by the City of Ufa and this man called Ivan Petrov. Ufa was a city of more than a million people, but none of the Owls’ parents knew anything about it except that it was the site of the 2013 World Junior Hockey Championship, which the United States had won over Sweden. Canada and
Russia had played for the bronze medal and Russia had won that game, leaving Canada in fourth place.

Ufa, however, was where a lot of oil came from. Dmitri’s father said it was a bit like Calgary or Dallas – a place with enormous wealth.

And this was where Mr. Petrov came into the picture. He was a billionaire – “That’s like being a millionaire a thousand times over,” explained Data – and was so rich that even if he did nothing but hand his money out, he couldn’t spend all of it. He had made his money in oil, but his big passion was hockey.

Mr. Petrov, Dmitri’s father explained, had become Russian hockey’s greatest benefactor. He had helped out members of the old 1972 team, who were getting elderly now and many of whom were sick. He had also given a lot of money to hockey development, particularly to the Russian junior hockey program and to women’s hockey in Russia, which, unlike men’s hockey, lagged far behind other countries in international competition.

Mr. Petrov had heard about the Screech Owls and the fact that some of their best players were
girls – Sarah at center, Sam on defense, Jenny in goal – and wanted to bring them over to Russia so that the people who ran hockey there could see the benefits of having girls and boys play together at young ages. He believed that this was what had made Canadian and American women so dominant in women’s hockey – with either the Canadians or the Americans taking the gold medal in each Winter Olympics.

His offer was simple. He would pay for flights and accommodation for the entire Screech Owls team. No need for the usual big bottle drive or selling chocolate bars door-to-door to fund this trip.

Muck Munro was harder to convince than the kids. Once the Owls heard about the possibility of going, they couldn’t contain their excitement. Nish even announced he might set his all-time record for mooning people in Russia. Sam said she hoped he would so they’d throw him in jail and toss away the key and she’d never have to look at his ugly butt again.

The parents met and held a vote. They were all for it, even if not all of them would be going
along. Parents had to pay for themselves, and it was expensive. The team would stay together at the Astoria; parents would have to find their own accommodation elsewhere.

Muck began to come around after Dmitri’s father stressed the historic significance of where they were going. Ufa might be unknown in North America, but it was famous in Russia. In the months following the Russian Revolution of 1917, it had been a place of great power. And it had been founded nearly five hundred years ago, Dmitri’s father added, “by Ivan the Terrible.”

Travis saw Muck’s eyes light up at the mention of this name. He knew at that moment that the Owls would be taking up Mr. Petrov’s generous offer.

Travis swallowed hard.

Ivan the
Terrible
?

Wasn’t he, Travis Lindsay, distantly related to Hockey Hall-of-Famer “Terrible” Ted Lindsay?

Maybe Travis was
meant
to go to Ufa.

“A
nd that’s the last you saw of her?” Muck asked. Travis nodded. His lower lip was trembling; his eyes were stinging. He couldn’t stop the tears. He felt no shame. He felt only that he had failed Sarah.

Muck and Mr. Dillinger were blurs and swirls of color as Travis stared at them through his tears. He wiped his eyes hard with the backs of his hands. Mr. D stepped forward, his thick mustache twitching, and took Travis’s head in his hands and
hugged him against his ample stomach. Travis burst into sobs.

“You did everything you could, Travis,” Mr. D said. “They were three grown men. You can’t beat up on yourself.”

Travis had described what happened as best he could: the walk, the stop for photos at the monument, the men running, their balaclavas and tracksuits, the first blow that knocked him over and the second blow that almost knocked him out.

“You couldn’t make out any of the faces?” Muck asked. Muck was so calm, his voice so comforting, even though Travis knew the coach had to be as worried as everyone else.

Travis shook his head.

“Mr. Yakushev has gone for the police,” Mr. D said. “I’ve called the parents at their hotel, and they’re on their way over.”

Mr. D was doing what Mr. D did best: organizing the details, being a friendly presence. He was the perfect team manager.

Muck was doing what he did best: staying calm, quietly talking things over, not panicking. Travis
had no idea how Muck did it. He never seemed to change. The coach had sat only two rows ahead of Nish and Travis on the jet that flew them across the Atlantic Ocean to Heathrow Airport in London, then three rows ahead of them for the Aeroflot flight to Moscow, then just across the aisle for the long flight to Ufa. They had traveled for more than thirty hours, but Travis never once saw Muck asleep. He sat there, reading a fat book on the czars of Russia, while others slept and watched their little televisions. A few times, Travis saw Muck get up and stretch his legs, especially the one that he’d injured in junior hockey, but the rest of the time, he just sat up straight and read his book.

Something about Muck’s calm manner settled Travis down. He was no longer sobbing.

There were sounds in the hallway. People. Both Russian and English being spoken. He could hear Mr. Yakushev’s voice speaking both languages.

There was a knock at the door and Mr. and Mrs. Cuthbertson burst in. Mrs. Cuthbertson was crying, which caused Travis’s eyes to start watering
all over again. She ran to Travis and squeezed him so hard Travis thought he was going to burst.

Right behind the Cuthbertsons came Mr. Yakushev, Mr. Petrov, and two uniformed police, one a man and one a woman. They looked very serious.

Mr. Petrov, the billionaire who had brought the Owls to Russia, looked worried sick. Travis knew he would be blaming himself. But so would Muck, who had let Travis and Sarah walk back to the hotel alone. But the real person to blame, Travis knew, was himself. He’d suggested they walk back through the park. He’d failed to protect Sarah from the men.

“I am so happy you’re safe,” Mrs. Cuthbertson said as she kissed Travis’s cheek. “I know you tried to help our Sarah.”

Travis broke inside. What good was
trying
when you were a twelve-year-old boy? And a small twelve-year-old at that? He had failed his friend, his line mate.

Mr. Cuthbertson put a big hand on Travis’s shoulder and gently pulled his wife away. He smiled
at Travis and mouthed the words
thank you
. Travis could see that Mr. Cuthbertson was trying hard to be calm and not look scared. But Travis could see the fear.

“The police do not believe any harm will come to Sarah,” Dmitri’s father told Muck and Mr. D. “They are convinced this is a ransom kidnapping. Unfortunately, with all the new wealth in Russia now, it sometimes happens.”

Muck and Mr. D nodded, seemingly comforted to hear that it was about money rather than causing harm to Sarah. Money was only money. Sarah was much more precious.

“Travis,” Mr. Yakushev said.

Travis looked in his direction, his eyesight still blurred from the tears.

“Travis,” Mr. Yakushev continued, “do you think you could tell us again what happened? Right from the beginning? I will translate for Mr. Petrov and the police. Go slowly, and try to remember absolutely everything that happened, okay?”

Travis nodded. He knew his voice would sound small and childlike. He could feel it in his
throat even before it came out. But he also knew he had to, for Sarah.

He began to tell his story all over again.

I
am back in the room. There was a meal waiting for me. Sort of pierogies – cheese and bacon inside them. They were good. And this time an energy drink. Not so sweet. Perfect.